


Outsiders

by JamesJohnEye



Series: Founding Fathers [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-04-12 10:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesJohnEye/pseuds/JamesJohnEye
Summary: Freya won't pretend to know Daryl Dixon, but she knows parts of him, even if she’s not sure how they all fit together.





	1. Washington

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boredcomiccollector86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boredcomiccollector86/gifts).



 

Commission prompt:

"some simple scenes that show Dare as seen from the perspective of the people in the towns"

 

Thank you for always being so nice,

I hope you like it. 

 

* * *

 

Daryl Dixon arrived at White House Station as a ghost story. A whisper that came from the dark tunnels, passed on at fires on abandoned stations, shared as a warning about horrors getting closer to their borders. This Daryl Dixon is not the first to reach them, but he’s the first to carry his own name. Others breached their borders before. Crazed and covered in blood, rocking themselves to sleep with wide-open eyes in a strange city, throwing themselves at walkers to escape helping hands. The ones who could still talk, told about a war so brutal that it drove soldiers from their own homes.

Stories about scorpions in the night, crawling into sleeping bags and stinging, stinging, stinging until everyone was dead. How they’d been hunted in the forest by shadows and had to listen to the dying cries of those who hadn’t been so lucky. Twisted tales about treason and irons and bats nobody understood. The ramblings of the crazy. Only the blood and fear in their eyes were proof that any of it had been real.

They brought the names of others to Washington.

Alexandria, whispered in hushed tones through shaking fingers covering treacherous lips.

Rick Grimes, whimpered with a wince as if the name would summon the monster.

Lucille, who’d been worshipped and feared and some spoke about as if she’d perished a long time ago but still damned people whenever she felt like it.

Negan, said with hands covering ears and rocking bodies, their name was Negan, all their names, they were all - all they were was Negan.

It didn’t make sense. None of it. The stories matched the fire painting their horizon terrible shades of red, and the sounds of gunshots that could even be heard on the outskirts of the city. But those sounds faded over time. The horizon was blue or black now – nothing more.

Freya had watched how Taiwo had come out of the tunnels with a scowl on his face and shame in his eyes. The typical look of a teenager who had gotten a scolding of a life-time not too long ago. She liked the boy. Bold and confident and endlessly curious, a trait that often got him into trouble with Mason, the stern leader from the outskirts.

It didn’t surprise her that the curiosity had won in the end, and Taiwo admitted that he’d gotten into trouble for going outside of the city limits, into the forest where the nightmares came from. He hadn’t found any of those he insisted, though the whole community disagreed when he said he’d ran into two strangers instead.

The borders were closed, again.

What had surprised Freya was the fact that she’d felt sorry for the twins from the outskirts. Everyone knew those two, and most had known them from when they’d been little kids. Their father had been the first to make the stations and tunnels a safe haven. Every single one of them now is a tribute to his efforts, and his sacrifice. Some people didn’t think it was right that his children turned out to be the ones urging everyone to start living Above, to rig up walls and clear buildings.

They had big plans. Two teens, still with missing teeth and growing pain, running around the tunnels to try and get people organized. Standing at tables on the tips of their toes to be able to see the maps, charming leaders with both their enthusiasm, legacy and the dimples in their smiley cheeks.

Working together and sometimes venturing above ground were big steps already. Opening up the borders and seeking other allies was one step too far entirely, but the twins kept at it until someone got sick of them and kicked them back into the tunnels to try their luck somewhere else. And they did.

Now they had a chance. Two strangers. They had the opportunity to hurt him, Taiwo’d insisted, but they hadn’t. A man and a teenager. Another teenager, a boy, and he’d looked like he’d belonged to a community. Well-fed with good clothes and they’d-

Nobody had wanted to hear it.

Freya had watched how Taiwo’s hopes of a whole new world in the light got stomped back into the ground. The borders were closed. The twins were grounded.

And that was that.

 

 

Naivety sometimes lingers in unexpected places, Freya thinks when a runner comes from the outskirts mere days later. They come bearing news that Mason allowed the strangers down into the station, there’s talk of trade deals, of open borders, _it’s a good thing_ , the runner insists.

Freya sits on the edge of the platform and listens while sharpening her knife. She knows Mason. This doesn’t sound like him at all. It’s only when she trades a fourth shot of whiskey later that night, that the runner gives her something juicy in return.

They have _guns_.

_Alexandria_ has come for them.

Freya jumps up and the runner stands, too.

‘It wasn’t them, it didn’t happen like that,’ the runner swears, ‘they told us what really happened!’

Alexandria as liberators. Nobody seems to understand that the winners of a war get to write the narrative, and nobody paints themselves as the demons of a legend. When the problem grows and grows and grows, it’s not just Alexandria, there are other places, more people, they have an army – Joao puts an end to it all.

He’s their leader, chosen the day after their previous leader was torn apart inside the tunnels. Eager to prove himself, but no fool. He does what every leader before him has done; he closes the borders.

The runner looks confused until they realize that Joao means the border between the outskirts and the city center. ‘They’re good people,’ they protest as Joao walks away. ‘Monica from the Kingdom – this Jesus from Hilltop. Rick grimes’ own son is there to negotiate on his behalf. Taiwo trusts this Daryl Dixon, why won’t you trust Mason’s kid to-‘

The borders are closed.

 

 

They wait, but everything is quiet. People gather around the radio every time Mason reports.

_Good negotiations. New friends. Other communities_.

Static.

_Visitors underground. New names. Vaccines_.

Static.

_Soldiers meeting on common ground for the first time._

Static.

_Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene inbound._

Static.

Static.

Static.

_Daryl Dixon is expected to arrive in the morning._

Freya isn’t surprised that Joao comes to see her that night when the doors to their station close. He’s carrying a lantern and puts it on the ground while he sits down on the bed. Head in his hands, palms digging into his eyes as he sighs.

She stares at the dark ceiling. They’ve known each other for years, she knows he will talk when he’s ready. She also already knows what he’s going to say, but she has learned that he always feels the need to actually say it. Her bag is already packed and sitting in the corner. They both ignore it.

They could have met years ago, before any of this, but they hadn’t. Instead, they’d lived on the same campus, were enrolled in the same year but different disciplines. They must have been at the same parties, must have at least once stood next to each other in the elevators, cheered for their team on the bleachers on the same nights. They don’t remember one another from those days though. They met when they both jumped at the opportunity to scout the campus for supplies, both hoping to grab some of their personal belongings that had gotten left behind in the chaos.

Joao had gotten the job from their leader. He’d returned with pictures of Freya’s family and the drawing her little sister had send her over the Christmas break. The pictures are still on her desk now, and it’s all she has left.

‘What if they’re doing it?’ Joao asks when his hands fall away from his face. ‘What if it’s real – what if everything they said is true? Mason wouldn’t… he wouldn’t try to trick us, or lure us into something that’s…’ he shakes his head. ‘It can’t just be _us_ until the rest of time.’

‘It sounds like the twins got into your head after all.’

The corner of his mouth shoots up. ‘I guess so. Holy shit, can you imagine … _five_ other communities.’

Freya shrugs. ‘There’s another one living right on our doorstep, squatting in the white house. They’re not _that_ friendly. It’s not _that_ great, and five times that trouble? I don’t know. Doesn’t sound like a good deal to me.’

‘Sounds like Mason is getting the good deal though. They got him that part they needed for the lights.’

‘He wouldn’t need it if he’d just let people go Above during the day.’

Joao looks at his boots. ‘You know what happened.’

Freya sighs. ‘Yeah. Well, the twins will be over the moon anyway. All their hard work paying off. Who is this Daryl Dixon anyway? Do we know?’

‘Not really,’ Joao bites on his lip before looking at her. ‘Sounds like something we should know though.’

Freya rolls her eyes. ‘Get out of my room and let me get some sleep then. I’ll leave in the morning.’

 

 

The outskirt station has always fascinated Freya. The foundation of their system, the origin of their survival, and still the place everyone usually avoids. She still remembers her first time visiting Mason’s station. Running through the endless, dark tunnels that hadn’t been secured yet, frightened by her own echoing footsteps and the constant growls of the dead. Hands shaking as she finally pushed through the last part to come stumbling out of the darkness and into the bright sunlight underground. Out of breath, heart pounding and eyes wide as she gazed up at the sunshine-ceiling.

She’d never seen anything like it.

Though the sense of awe has waned by now, she still smiles when she sees the light at the end of the tunnel and slows down to not startle the guards.

‘Sorry to interrupt the game,’ she says between pants as she walks up to the platform, hands on her aching side. ‘Who’s winning?’

The guards throw their last cards down and one of them smiles. ‘You know I always win, that’s why I’m the head of security around here.’ He holds out his hand to help Freya climb up, off the tracks. ‘Welcome back. Mason told us you’d be stopping by today.’

‘He did?’

The guard laughs. ‘Nothing but static from your station for weeks now. You were all so very quiet when the strangers got here, didn’t have much to say when they held a gun to our heads, not a single peep out of you all when they just waltzed in here. But then there’s an understanding, there are new communities reaching out, there’s _trade_ , and looks who comes slithering out of those tunnels. White House Station.’

Freya scoffs, ‘we knew you had everything under control here. You’re the outskirts!’

The guard rolls his eyes. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere, you know that.’

She hums and sits down on the edge of the platform to drink from her canister. ‘There’s lots I don’t know though, which is why I’m here. I heard Daryl Dixon will arrive today. Why is he back? Mason didn’t mention any other trade deals.’

The guards snort and look away.

‘What?’ Freya asks.

‘Nothing,’ one of them smirks. ‘He’s here to strengthen the ties with Washington.’

The other guard sniggers.

‘Shut up,’ his friend laughs while shoving his shoulder.

Freya rolls her eyes while she gets up and puts her canister away. ‘You’re so helpful. Thank you.’

‘Honest truth. He’s here for a social visit only. You’ll see.’

It’s barely an hour after sunrise and Freya wishes the lamps would warm up quicker. The world Above is white, fresh snow drifting down which she had run through just after midnight to get to the most convenient entrance of the system. Her breath still ghosts around her now as she walks through the empty stall of the market place to get to the kitchen.

There’s sound coming from the train, doors opening and closing softly, the sound still echoing through the whole tunnel but she doubts anyone wakes up from it anymore. She sits down at one of the table near the kitchen and waits.

To her surprise, one of the first people to emerge is Taiwo. She has seen him at early morning meetings before, slouching in his chair with a scowl on his face because he hates getting up early, but he looks almost cheerful now. He runs down the train, jumps over a low fence and heads towards the kitchen where another teenager is preparing breakfast for the whole community.

Their eyes meet and Taiwo’s narrow but he doesn’t stop to ask what she’s doing here. He nods in greeting before pestering his friend about getting free food.

Half an hour later, the teenagers have disappeared in the crowd and Freya saunters through the market. She picks up a military-grade night scope, a book with terrible puns to annoy her best friend with, and places an order to have her armor altered. While she’s there, she picks up some more gossip too.

Daryl Dixon of Alexandria. A place called the Kingdom ruled by a man who’d once had a tiger trotting at his side. How parts of the monster’s tale had been Daryl’s own history. A teenager with a crossbow, hunting knife and killer smile. He’d fought in the war. Blew up Savior convoys, killed dozens and dozens of people, and has panic attacks when he needs to relive it all.

He has a sister with a different last name. His brother shot at Mason’s feet. There’s an older brother back at Hilltop colony. He refers to Maggie Rhee as his mother. Everyone knows he’s also Rick Grimes’ son. There are aunts and uncles of legend. Not a single family tree today makes sense, but Daryl’s might be the most confusing of all.

‘No, that’s what she _said_ ,’ the young vendor insists when his older neighbor sighs and rolls his eyes. ‘The tiger saved him.’

Freya chuckles at the face the neighbor pulls. ‘Is he boring you with old wife’s tales again, Joran?’

‘He keeps me entertained,’ Joran says with a shrug.

‘What are you talking about? _She said it_ ,’ the young man says. ‘ _The tiger saved him_!’

‘Youth, so easily impressed by fairytales.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Freya says as she moves on to the next table. She’s thinking about getting some breakfast when the big doors to the staircase suddenly open up again. Cold wind rushes into the station to alert those so used to the sound of scraping metal. People habitually glance over their shoulders to check on whoever entered. Most do a double take.

‘Freya!’ the young vendor hisses. ‘That’s him!’

She didn’t need the announcement.

It’s easy to spot Daryl Dixon, even when he’s in a crowd.

He’s younger than she thought he would be. Army boots, ripped jeans and a black leather jacket. A green scarf tugged loose now that he’s inside, cheeks still red from the biting cold from Above. Dark hair covered by a black baseball cap he wears backwards. There’s a big crossbow strapped to his back, knives clipped to his belt but everyone’s eye is immediately drawn to the gun that he wears on his thigh.

He’s laughing. Amaka, Felix and Hakeem are walking a couple of steps in front of him, occasionally turning around and walking backwards to say something, obviously bickering among themselves. Taiwo is carrying a duffle bag, which must belong to the visitor. Their shoulders brush.

The elderly woman behind the stall clears her throat pointedly.

Freya tears her gaze away.

‘It’s not polite to stare like that, honey,’ the lady says as she sits down and pulls a blanket over her frail form. ‘He gets it all the time. I think it bothers him, though he has never let on.’ She smiles. ‘He’s a sweet boy.’

Freya frowns and looks back over her shoulder to watch how Daryl and Taiwo run up the stairs to Mason’s quarters.

The warrior from Alexandria.

Rick Grimes’ son.

A sweet boy.

 

 

The next time she sees him, he’s sitting next to Taiwo at one of the tables near the kitchens. The whole group is together, with even Vera joining them while she’s on her break. Their conversations are loud, especially when Felix needs Taiwo to know that he once aced an English test no matter what his friends think of his spelling, but Daryl Dixon is quiet.

He’s talking to Hakeem, the shy boy who doesn’t talk. He signs and sometimes writes things down in his notebook, nods whenever Daryl seems to guess what he’s trying to say with his hands. Daryl asks him questions to keep the conversation going. While his friends have found ways to communicate with Hakeem, others often don’t bother. They sigh whenever he holds his notebook up, or snap that they don’t understand his made-up language when he starts to sign.

Hakeem mimics throwing something over his shoulder.

Daryl says something.

Hakeem nods.

Daryl nods too and mutters something that makes Hakeem shrug.

The conversation continues with a new set of signs from Hakeem and another guess from Daryl. Freya watches from where she’s sitting next to a fire. There’s a sour taste in her mouth. A sweet boy, maybe, she thinks as she watches how Daryl’s hand rests on Taiwo’s knee under the table. But the hand moves to the gun and the thought disappears from her mind.

 

 

It’s dark when Freya slips out of the guestroom. All the lights have been powered down, it must be around midnight and everyone seems to be asleep. That’s one thing she’ll never get used to, no matter how often she visits; it’s quiet in the outskirts.

Her room at her own station is right above the control post. Even at night, she’ll hear the constant buzz of the radio, the shuffling of papers and maps, and the quiet conversations that sometimes flare into arguments about what to do with the walkers and the group that occupies the White House.

She wanders through the empty stalls, let’s her hand glide over the kitchen equipment before settling down on the staircase leading up to the second platform where the bathrooms are. There are guards sitting by both the gate and the tunnels, but they’re quiet, too. Huddled in warm blankets, breath misting in front of them.

‘Can’t sleep?’

Freya freezes. Her hands curl around the metal step she’s sitting on, and the cold bites at her skin.

Daryl Dixon slowly walks down the staircase. His heavy boots make an ominous sound in the quiet until they stop next to her. He sits down. ‘I can never sleep my first night someplace else either. It doesn’t sound the same as back home. The fact that this place is underground makes it even creepier, but I guess you’re used to that, huh?’

Freya meets his eye. ‘Yeah.’

‘So from which station are you? Or does the name give away the location? Mason doesn’t want me to know where the others are, so you best not tell me.’

She bites on the inside of her cheek. ‘This is my station.’

‘Oh, really?’ Daryl muses as his gaze slowly moves across the platforms. ‘So you just put your dirty dishes on the wrong side of the sink on purpose? Felix told me the woman running the kitchen goes ballistic on everyone who gets it wrong.’

‘That woman’s my mom,’ Freya lies.

‘I just made that up. Some dude runs the kitchens here. You’re also sleeping in the guest room next to mine.’ He gives her a small smile. ‘Just because you didn’t see me, doesn’t mean I didn’t see you. That’s what my dad used to say. He always knew when I were up to no good.’

‘Your dad, Rick Grimes?’ Freya asks because he’s catching every lie she tells and it feels like she’s falling behind.

‘He’s not really my dad, but I am his son,’ Daryl says without missing a beat. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

Daryl scratches at his cheek. ‘Yeah. Don’t believe everything you hear though. There are some wild stories going around.’

‘What should I believe then?’

He needs to think about that for a couple of moments. ‘That… that we are trying to build a new world. We have five communities, working together. There’s trade, we’re sharing resources, we’ve cleared roads and rebuild bridges. It’s awesome. We’d like you to be a part of that.’

Freya shifts to look at him directly. ‘What happens when we say no?’

‘Guess Ezekiel will want to decide on definite borders then, so nobody crosses them by accident. Bet Rick will still give you a radio, just in case, ya know?’ Daryl shrugs and plucks at the laces of his boots. ‘I just hope Mason will still let me visit.’

Freya’s not sure what she’d expected. The promise of a hail of bullets. War. Vengeance for those who stood in the way of Alexandria’s new world. All of that and much worse things, too, not a teenager worrying about whether he’d still get to see his boyfriend.

Daryl sighs and stands up, heads towards the tunnel. ‘I’m going to the vents for a smoke. Just tell the people from your own station what I said.’

‘I will. Daryl!’ she waits until he’s looking at her. ‘My station? It’s called White House Station, so I guess you could say it kind of gives away the location.’

There’s a flash of fascination on his face and then fake-horror as he puts his hands over his ears. ‘Don’t tell me! I’m not allowed to know yet.’

‘Yet.’

Daryl grins, ‘yeah.  _Yet_. See you around, Freya. Thanks for coming all this way.’

She never told him her name.

She watches how he walks away, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip and zippo lighter flicking on and off. There’s sweetness lingering in his smile and eyes, sure, but that’s not all that boy is. He’s smart. Observant. Dangerous.

Later, when she’s staring at the ceiling of her room, she hears how he enters the one next door. In the silence of the whole community, she hears how he drags the desk over so it blocks the only entrance.

He’s fascinating.

 

 

In the end, Joao makes a half-hearted attempt to warn people about the dangers of going to the fair. Some already refused because they think their world should stay small. They have everything they need already, there’s nothing they want from outside of the city, nothing they need. Most decide to come just because they’re curious.

The sting has been taken out of the word _Alexandria_ by Daryl’s visits. The stories of the war are replaced by someone sniggering over the fact that they saw Taiwo take the keys to the apartment in the tower, or a memory Carl decided to share which causes Daryl to chase him around the outskirts in retaliation. People talk about the beautiful horse the king has given him, and the way he keeps sneaking into baby stores when he joins one of Amaka’s patrols.

Freya makes the journey to the outskirts two days early and then joins the caravan. Still more stories about people visiting the Kingdom to deliver goods and pick up orders. About the tiger, how she had saved Daryl Dixon during a battle once, that he’d painted a mural of her on one of the Kingdom’s main buildings, so big and vivid that it struck people with awe.

But there are also rumors about a cage, and a monster that used to dwell there. The nickname that none of his family members ever uses, but everyone knows him by. The community he refuses to visit, the people he tries to ignore, the girl he fought with because she dates someone he did not approve of.

She’s sure most of those stories have an element of truth in them, but she wonders how much of it he will reveal. Or rather, how hard he will fight to keep things hidden from them now that they are the ones entering his world, instead of him snooping around in theirs.

 

 

Not hard at all, it turns out.

 

 

The history is splattered onto the wall. Vivid images lead her through the dark days of the beginnings, near Atlanta, all the way to where they are standing now. A beautiful community, still smelling of fresh paint and wood shavings after the rebuilding, with wide open gates but snipers in the towers.

After all the horses have been taken care of, Freya hides away on top of the wall to avoid the masses of new people. It’s been a long time since she has seen so many people in one space, or perhaps it’s been a long time since they shared a space so peacefully.

She sees flashes of the Dixon boy over the next couple of days.

Daryl runs around to deliver messages, sorts out a fight between two young kids, tries to figure out a map someone drew before pulling a face, laughs at a story the king’s bodyguard tells, sits next to the sniper up in the tower, walks next to Rick Grimes as he does his rounds.

Daryl sits among legends at the high table, dances with his boyfriend while his sister sings, gets handed a baby boy with dark hair who won’t stop crying, naps curled up in a corner despite the noise all around him, teases his brother and smiles a little brighter when his mother puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

Daryl sits at the negotiations table but doesn’t seem to be on any side, shares a smoke with his older brother, climbs into Taiwo’s bedroom at night, shows his horse to the toddler perched on his hip, shares a quiet moment with Jesus in the shade of an apple tree, sits at Washington’s table, always appears whenever a young single mother appears to be looking for him.

Daryl hoists a blonde girl to his shoulders so she can be tallest of them all.

Daryl almost beats a man to death with his bare hands.

 

 

Nobody from Washington understands Daryl Dixon.

They don’t know him well enough to make sense of any it, but they trust the way he looks at Taiwo, and how he jokes around with Felix, and learns their special version of sign language. They understand what he is to Rick, and who he is to Maggie. They respect how he treats the ones who don’t belong to his family, and how he loves the ones who do.

Freya won’t pretend to know Daryl Dixon. The warrior. The brother. The son. The scout. The negotiator. The farmer. The hunter. The boyfriend. The best friend. The prisoner. The monster. The little prince.

She knows parts of him, even if she’s not sure how they all fit together.

 

 

 


	2. Alexandria

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Alexandria knows Daryl Dixon. Or at least, it likes to pretend it does._

 

Joel stops on the threshold.

Most houses in Alexandria seem to cling to the realtor-aesthetic, devoid of personality and ready to be passed on to the next family, except for the Grimes’ house. From the second you cross the threshold, you know that people actually live there.

A dirty dishtowel has been thrown onto the counter and somebody didn’t put their plate in the sink after using it. Stacks of books and papers litter one part of the dining room table. All the chairs have been kicked back, a jacket has been thrown over the back of one, there’s a row of muddy shoes next to the door. The cushions of the couch have been thrown into a corner to make room. A colorful blanket discarded in a chair. A ball has been kicked under the couch and got stuck there. A broken holster is on the coffee table, next to the wrapper of a candy bar.

What makes Joel smile is the fact that Daryl Dixon is sleeping on the couch. Sprawled out, with one leg dangling off the edge and his arm covering his eyes, and mouth hanging open. There’s a comic book on the ground next to him, which has probably slid off of him when he lost his grip on it, and his baseball cap has fallen off, too.

He finally looks like he’s actually fourteen years old. Nobody had believed that, at first. Joel remembers crowding around the television at the Monroe residence to watch Rick’s audition tape, with Daryl’s right after that. When Deanna stated that a _fourteen_ -year-old shouldn’t be outside the walls to hunt, people reached for the remote to rewind the tape seconds to check whether they had heard that right.

Now, Joel sees it. He walks to the kitchen counter on the tips of his toes to not wake the boy, but misses another pair of boots on the floor. He almost trips but manages to put the crate with groceries down before he steadies himself by gripping the counter.

The bang wakes Daryl up. He sits up so quickly that it frightens Joel, eyes wide-open and hand yanking his knife out the sheath. ‘Who are you?’ the teenager demands breathlessly.

Joel throws up his hands. ‘Joel, sorry! Sorry, I was just stopping by to deliver your rations. I didn’t mean to wake you up, sorry.’

There’s suspicion lurking in the boy’s eyes as he gets up. He doesn’t put the knife away. ‘Could have left them on the porch. Could have knocked.’

‘It’s hot out,’ Joel says with a shrug. ‘And I probably should have knocked, yeah. I didn’t think anyone would be here.’

‘’s my home,’ the boy says, but he doesn’t sound too sure. His grip on the knife keeps changing, like he knows he should put it away but can’t bring himself to actually do it.

‘Yeah – sorry. I thought you’d be at school.’

The boy looks confused.

‘There’s school in the afternoon for you guys, right?’

‘Ain’t going to school.’

Joel frowns. ‘Why not? Every kid goes to-‘

‘You best stop sticking your nose in!’

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up when the sudden anger registers. ‘Hey, I was just saying-‘

It doesn’t matter. Joel’s blood runs cold when Daryl’s hand goes white from pressure on his knife, whole arm bracing to lash out, but he changes his mind at the last second. The knife disappears, and so does the boy soon after. He comes running, jumps up via the couch and slides right over the kitchen counter to land near the backdoor, bursting through it – and he’s gone.

Joel watches how the door slams closed due to the breeze and works his jaw while thinking.

 

 

Rick has just finished one of his rounds when Joel finds him. It feels strange to see someone wearing the uniform, he hasn’t seen an actual cop since the start of all of this, but the normalcy of it makes him smile. He wonders whether Rick used to be a small-town cop, or whether he’s just good at fitting in.

Rick doesn’t remember his name but tries to hide it when he answers his greeting. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that Joel just waltzed into his house earlier, just acknowledges his apology with a curt nod as they head over to the porch.

‘Daryl mentioned he’s not attending school.’

The corner of Rick’s mouth shoots up in a sceptic smile. ‘He _mentioned_ that?’

‘Well – I asked him why he wasn’t in school and… He’s very defensive.’

Rick doesn’t seem to see a problem with that.

Joel tries another route. ‘He drew his knife on me.’

‘You woke him up by banging a crate onto his kitchen counter.’

‘Well, yeah, but – Look, I understand. He’s been out there a while, he’s young, he’s probably scared, but… I think it would be good for him to go to school. He hasn’t spent any more time with the other teenagers. School’s a great way to – well, not force them together, but to have them interact? He’ll... adjust faster.’

Rick stops walking and looks at him. He doesn’t say anything though.

‘When Enid arrived, it was the same thing,’ Joel assures him. ‘She didn’t speak at first, but after she got into the rhythm again? Went to school, hung out at Ron’s house? You couldn’t shut her up!’ He laughs but has the feeling that they both know that last part isn’t true at all. ‘It would be good for him, that’s all.’

‘I’ll take it up with Glenn.’

Joel frowns. ‘I’m sorry?’

Sharp blue eyes on him again. ‘I’ll take it up with his father.’

‘Oh! I thought…’

A soft scoff is the only answer he gets.

 

 

It doesn’t surprise Joel that Daryl Dixon strikes up a friendship with Aaron and Eric. The two men have been outsiders ever since they arrived at Alexandria. While they are friendly and actively contributing to the community, nobody expects them to show up at any of Deanna’s dinners or parties. Most people have something to say about them not showing their faces there, though they would have a lot more to say if they did.

Joel can’t blame them for choosing their own company. Two pairs of extra hands were welcomed while rigging up the wall, but with the return of civilization came the return of judgement, barely hidden resentment and ignorance. No matter how much they contribute, some people think it will never justify them being inside the walls of their perfect little community.

Those people also take offence to the fact that the new Grimes clan seems to prefer the company of the two men in question. Their doors seem to be always open for each other, with Maggie dragging Eric over for dinner whenever Aaron is still out on one of his missions, or with Daryl slipping into their garage to work on his motorcycle.

Joel has to admit that who-ever thought of the motorcycle-ploy, struck gold. Daryl still doesn’t go to school and barely spends any time with the teenagers, other than his brother, but he has started to talk to the people around town. At first it was more like an ambush than a conversation, with him shooting rapid-fire questions at an unsuspecting victim until he got frustrated or too anxious and disappeared again.

Hank was the first to figure out that the boy had to find people who knew anything about building a bike, and that he had to ask them to teach him. He needed people who knew how to weld, how to connect the wires. He had to understand how batteries worked, what kind of fuel to use, how to operate the rig and use power tools.

It amused the community to watch him figure it all out. They would often see Glenn give the boy a pep-talk on their porch before Daryl made a bee-line to whoever he thought he’d need for the next part. Most of the time, they were sitting at the kitchen table a couple of hours later to start another bout of education. Even though nobody particularly likes the fact that it’s Aaron and Eric’s kitchen table, everyone eventually caves.

The boy is smart and listens well. His temper flares whenever he gets stuck on a question though and everyone grows thankful that Eric is always nearby with a soothing word or hand on the teenager’s shoulder to ground him.

Everything quiets down.

Carl makes new friends. Michonne and Rick keep the peace. Maggie plays Deanna like a fiddle and Glenn keeps the runners on their toes. Beth charms the town with southern hospitality so nobody notices the wicked knife strapped to her thigh. Carol makes casseroles and even Daryl slips under the radar.

People start to learn small tidbits about him. He’s got a sweet tooth. He doesn’t like oatmeal much but won’t complain when Maggie makes him eat it. He likes comics. He likes to draw but hates it when someone peeks over his shoulder without permission. The vest is sacred. He’s bad at playing videogames but never loses with poker. He cheats though.

He almost sounds like any other normal teenager, and Alexandria prides itself with that. They brought him back. They gave him peace of mind, they took him in and _healed_ him.

It all comes crashing down, of course.

The herd.

The wolves.

Daryl, standing next to his long-lost brother on top of the truck, the whole lake on fire. There’s blood on his clothes, his knife is dirty and his knuckles bruised. He’s smiling though, laughing when the walkers drown themselves in the fire, and Alexandria realizes with a shudder that he was only keeping up appearances.

 

 

But then, the Saviors.

The boy is taken and his family can’t sleep. Joel stands in front of the windows in his bedroom and watches how Rick Grimes sits down on the steps of the porch. Hands slowly come up to cover his face.

‘Did you hear what happened?’

Joel nods before glancing over to look at Hannah, who sits down on the edge of her bed. Her brown hair has been cut short ever since a walker got hold of it in the earlier days. She’s wearing one of his shirts and despite everything, it makes him smile. Bare toes wriggle as she pushes them through the thick carpet.

‘Terrible,’ she whispers.

He nods again.

‘Did Maggie get to Hilltop safely?’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ Joel says, ‘but Sasha is with her. She’ll get her there. They’re strong people.’

‘Strong people,’ Hannah repeats but it sounds empty and hollow. ‘They can only survive so much. Glenn and Abraham are gone. That monster threatened to chop Carl’s hand off. They took Daryl.’

‘I know.’

‘We’re never going to see him again.’

Joel shakes his head. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Come on, Joel,’ Hannah sighs. Sometimes she gets tired of how badly he wants to hold on to how things used to be. ‘You really think that Negan will keep him alive? People are a resource, I get it, but that’s just a child. His use is going to run out and then he’s just another mouth to feed. He either gets killed because Rick won’t bow, or Negan gets rid of Daryl because he does. Either way, we’ve already lost him. They should have –‘ she cuts herself off and studies her fingernails.

‘They should have what?’ Joel asks as he watches how the door behind Rick opens and Michonne steps out into the darkness. She sits down next to her partner.

Hannah looks up. ‘It would have been more merciful if they’d killed him last night.’

‘Don’t say things like that.’

‘It’s true. You’ll see.’

Joel closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he watches how Michonne pulls Rick into her embrace. The man is sobbing, clutching to her like a lifeline, and Joel fears that the man starts believing the same thing as Hannah.

 

 

The war seems endless.

Alexandria burns and Joel manages to get to Hilltop safely. His ears are still ringing from the bombs Negan rained down on them and when people tell him what happened to Eric, he refuses to believe it. He’d been there, _right there_ behind him, running from the flames and the bombs and then the Saviors.

He knows it’s true when Daryl Dixon returns. Shell-shocked and with unseeing eyes, moving only when someone nudges him. He sits on the steps of Barrington House and stares at the ground in front of him. He smokes as Aaron’s screams of anguish echo through the colony. When the filter falls onto the ground minutes later, he throws up until there’s nothing left in his stomach.

Days pass and Joel grows used to watching Maggie stand on the balcony with arm around her belly as she watches how her oldest hoists himself onto the back of his horse. Face hidden behind his black bandana, baseball cap hanging from his belt so he won’t lose it, right next to his knifes and the quiver with spare bolts. His horse steps in place, impatient, rearing up whenever one of the farm hands tries to comfort her, only responding to her rider’s gentle voice. Daryl Dixon and his Khamsin; the terror of their enemies.

The gates open and close, there’s a cloud of dust as Daryl leads his troops into the night. Maggie starts to cry but she can’t tear her gaze away from the horizon. She rocks herself, both arms now protecting her swollen belly, ignoring Merle who’s trying to get her to rest. A hand pressed against her pale lips, eyes closed as she prays for her oldest boy, before she follows her friend inside.

Joel is there when the teenager returns, too. A gash on his arm, bound with his bandana, he grimaces when he helps another wounded rider off their horse. He checks on his soldiers before walking over to the command post where Rick Grimes is waiting for them. Daryl won’t meet his eye.

There has been tension between them since Negan tried to take his head instead of Carl’s, on Rick’s orders. There’s no blame or accusation in the way Daryl sits next to the man while eating dinner, or how he still likes to sleep curled up next to Carl, but Rick’s touches linger while Daryl’s don’t anymore.

Alexandria watches how the boy is broken into a man and mourns the fact they couldn’t keep him safe for a little while longer. Everyone misses his laughter, how he would chase Carl through the neighborhood and dance around Tara to hear more of her silly stories. They miss seeing him cleaning his kill on a porch while telling Glenn all about the army vehicle he’d found stalled somewhere in the forest. The blush whenever someone gave him a compliment. The giggle when Michonne arched an eyebrow at him behind Rick’s back. The sight of him and Rick jamming out to terrible music together. The little smile when Merle would give him a piggy-back ride.

Now they watch how he washes blood off his knife. How he binds his wounds and sits at war meetings with a grim look on his young face. They listen how he reports how many Saviors he killed, how many people he lost. They see him stumble away from pyres, puking and covering his ears.

‘Oh,’ Joel says when he takes a quick step back. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-‘

‘Leave me alone.’ Smoke spills over Daryl’s lips as he talks. He’s sitting against the wall behind Barrington House, knees drawn up, and with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Narrowed eyes look up at the man.

‘I was looking for some place quiet.’

‘This spot is fucking taken.’ There’s ash on the boy’s hand. The skin is red and raw. ‘Go away.’

‘Are you okay?’ Joel asks even though it’s a stupid question. ‘Do you want me to get Maggie? Merle? Jesus just came back, I can-‘

‘Good lord, never mind.’ He starts to head towards the main entrance. After a couple of angry steps, he suddenly stops and turns around. The shoulders sag. He looks sad. ‘Hey,’ he calls out. ‘I’m sorry about Hannah.’

Joel works his jaw and nods.

‘She were nice to me.’

‘After you were taken, she said it would have been kinder if Negan had killed you that night. Would have been quicker, right?’ Joel sighs when the teenager looks away. ‘You do that,’ he gestures to the boy’s hand, ‘and it can lead you down a very dark path. Don’t do it, man. If not for yourself, for Maggie. Every time you leave, it’s…’ he shakes his head. ‘She’s so worried.’

Daryl lifts his cigarette and takes a long drag. Eyes narrowed slits, skin pale in the moonlight. ‘Why the hell do you think I’m still here?’ Ain’t doing that to her.’

‘Good.’

Daryl scoffs and walks away.

At night, everyone pretends not to hear him scream in his sleep.

 

 

The war ends and Daryl Dixon disappears.

Alexandria meets him again as a voice on the radio. Short, clipped messages grow longer, some days he makes an appreciative humming noise when someone cracks a joke until one day Michonne sits at Alexandria’s headquarters, cradling the radio with tears in her eyes. On the other side, Daryl laughs at something Jesus said.

His visits are short. It seems to be too painful for him to stay, though he does reclaim his bedroom in Rick’s house. Every time he visits though, he seems to be standing a little taller. Always arriving late in the afternoon, crossbow on his back and on his gorgeous horse, storming through the gates and jumping down into the grass next to the Grimes residence.

He carries letters from loved-ones and disappears into the former church to hand new contracts and plans to Michonne. Batteries are switched out while his brother takes care of his horse for him, though Carl never manages to wrangle the devil into her box. He has stopped trying by now.

Alexandria breathes easy when he arrives with a smile on his face. It becomes more frequent now that the New World is taking shape. Bridges are rebuilt on his command, he negotiates the transfer of prisoners, makes sure that every community has what it needs to thrive. He always carries a sketch of Hershel in his pocket to show curious people how big he has gotten and doesn’t fight with Rosita anymore whenever she slips him a new clip for his gun.

 He’s a man now, though the teenager comes shining through when he chases his brother for spilling the beans about his boyfriend from Washington. Or perhaps more so when Negan welcomes him home and Daryl doesn’t hesitate to fight his own family to try and get to him, only stopping when Jesus brings him back to the here and now.

He runs away.

When he returns, Alexandria is reminded of something they’ve known all along: there is hell to pay when Daryl Dixon is angry with you.

The air seems colder when the teenager enters Alexandria the next time. His footsteps silent as if stalking a prey, heading to Rick’s house with clear intent. Even the sight of his little sister doesn’t conjure a smile on his face and his voice is icy when he summons Rick to justify himself.

There is no justification. Nothing Rick says is good enough but Daryl lets him speak regardless. He’s quiet. The kind of quiet that warns that there’s a knife on the boy’s hip, that he’s quick with his bow and his gun is always at the ready. The kind of quiet he usually breaks with a mighty blow or words so cutting, they can make any soul bleed.

The quiet lasts until Rick is done talking.

Daryl honors his father by using his words. There’s no bite to them this time. There’s quiet resignation mixing with determination, closure for the both of them spilling over his lips.

 

 

Months later, Joel is on guard duty as he walks his rounds just after midnight. Alexandria is quiet around him, though he hadn’t thought it possible after the busy day they’ve had. It’s been a long time since every room in the town was taken, every bed claimed, since there were clusters of children running through the streets. Everyone has come to Alexandria.

Tomorrow, the fair begins.

A strange noise attracts Joel’s attention. He puts his hand on the gun he borrowed and slowly walks around the house that used to belong to Hannah. She never stayed there, preferred to stay with friends and later with him, something which Deanna had never really understood. A spacious, new and stylishly decorated mansion – just for her.

The nightmare of any survivor.

When he rounds the corner, he freezes. The sounds, he realizes, were boots scraping over a brick wall. It’s now joined by soft cursing, coming from Daryl Dixon, who is hanging from a windowsill on the second floor. He dangles from the ridge, feet kicking to try and find the ledge that’s just out of reach.

‘Stop laughing and fucking help me!’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Taiwo laughs. ‘Just go down the way you came up!’

‘If it were that easy, I would have fucking done it by now, you asshole!’ Daryl hisses but there’s no malice in his voice. The last words break into laughter, causing him to almost lose his grip on the wood. ‘Oh shit!’

‘I’m going to piss myself,’ Taiwo says as he laughs. He reaches down to grab Daryl’s arm but the laughter has caused the strength to leave his body. His hand pats Daryl’s arm helplessly.

‘Stop giving my arm a goddamn hand job, you freak,’ the teenager sniggers, ‘and stop makin’ me laugh. I’m gonna fall to my death and then you’re going to have to explain to Maggie why I fell from your window. Or Merle! You’re going to have to tell Merle you lured me into your bedroom and then kicked me out at midnight.’

‘He’s going to let me turn for sure,’ Taiwo says, ‘but I didn’t kick you out!’

Daryl groans. ‘Can you not start an argument while I’m dangling fifty feet above ground?’

‘You’re the one starting it with your lies!’ Then his boyfriend scoffs. ‘ _Fifty feet_. Get your lying ass down.’

‘I’m _trying_!’

Joel flicks his flashlight on and points it at the teenager’s kicking feet. ‘A little more to the left, Daryl.’

‘Holy fucking shit! Who’s –‘ Daryl twists to look over his shoulder and the quickly gets his feet on the now illuminated ledge he’d been trying to find earlier. ‘Oh, hey Joel. Fuck – you scared me man. Thought you were Rick for a second there.’ Daryl jumps to a lower ledge and then to the ground, landing with a soft thud and groan.

‘Good job,’ Taiwo says as he sits down on the windowsill.

‘I’d like to see you do it!’

‘I was talking to that dude.’

‘ _Hey_!’ Daryl puffs up his chest, ‘do you know who the hell you’re talking to? I’m Daryl Dixon of Alexandria, you best watch your mouth.’

The left side of Taiwo’s mouth curls up in a fond smile. ‘I’m shaking in my boots.’

Daryl deflates and frowns. ‘You’re not wearing any.’

Joel bites on his lower lip when Taiwo rolls his eyes. ‘Okay guys, let’s get going now. It’s past midnight and I’m supposed to uphold the curfew. I don’t think Maggie will take to kindly to me locking her son up during the great festival, so hurry up and head home.’

‘Pff,’ Daryl scoffs, ‘they won’t lock me up.’

Joel cocks his head to the side, ‘no, of course not, but you’ll get _me_ into trouble. Whether I lock you up or let you go; you’re out past curfew on my watch. You’re my responsibility now.’

The teenager straightens up and adjusts his baseball cap. ‘Yeah – sorry.’ He looks up at his boyfriend. ‘see you at breakfast?’

‘Washington’s table,’ Taiwo says, ‘I’m not sitting up on that podium two times a day. Breakfast with the commoners, that’s the deal.’

Daryl pulls a face but then changes his mind, ‘can Kiss sit with us?’

‘Only if he pukes on Felix.’

‘Deal!’

The two teenagers grin.

Joel gently shoves Daryl’s shoulder. ‘Go on now.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Daryl walks backwards to wave at his boyfriend. ‘See you tomorrow then,’ he stage-whispers.

Taiwo laughs and waves back. He closes the window and disappears inside.

Daryl lights a cigarette while they head towards Rick’s house. He glances over at Joel, ‘do you know how long it is since somebody walked me home? Might have been the only time, too. Carol did it, after the party at Deanna’s house.’

‘Did she really?’

‘Yeah,’ Daryl inhales deeply, ‘we wanted to steal some weapons and had to sneak up. Nobody believed it then, so why’re you doing it now? I can walk. I’m inside the walls. I promise I won’t sneak out again. Tonight,’ he adds hastily. ‘I promise I won’t sneak out again _tonight_.’

Joel snorts. He shrugs. ‘I don’t know – security’s been tightened. I’m not sure whether it’s just the amount of people, but Rick’s worried about something. He warned us to keep on our toes tonight.’

‘Knife, bow, holler,’ Daryl mutters.

‘What?’

‘He told me that at the bonfire. He hasn’t told me to be careful like that for a long time now. It’s something my dad used to tell me. It sort of became this… this thing, y’know? Makes ya wonder what’s going on.’

‘I’m sure he’d tell you if something was actually wrong,’ Joel says.

Daryl snorts and lets the smoke escape through his nose. ‘Sure.’

They walk in silence for a minute.

‘So,’ Joel draws the word out, ‘about Rick… you seemed pretty worried he’d find out you snuck into Taiwo’s room.’

Daryl bites on the cigarette and glances at him. ‘You blackmailin’ me with the fact you’re a shitty guard now? Two seconds ago you were worried it’d get pinned on your ass.’

‘You wouldn’t let that happen.’

Daryl snorts. He throws the cigarette away. ‘Fine. Guess I owe you. What do you want? Nothing crazy,’ he adds, ‘don’t go demanding a horse now and I ain’t givin’ you Khamsin. Everyone’s trying to steal my girl. You can’t have her.’

‘Not Khamsin,’ Joel promises with a laugh, ‘but there is something I’d like.’

 

 

A month later, Enid comes to visit Carl. She hugs her boyfriend at the gate and holds his hand tightly as they walk through the street together. Their laughter makes the whole town a little brighter in these dark times.

The girls’ eyes go wide when she spots Joel out in the gardens. She let’s go of Carl’s hand and runs over, long hair dancing in the wind. She stops in front of him, panting slightly as she opens her bag and pulls a book out.

‘Daryl told me to give you this,’ Enid says as she pulls a sheet of paper from between the papers of the book. ‘He told me not to crease it, and to tell you; sorry for the wait.’

Joel takes the drawing and stares at it.

In the lower right-hand corner of the portrait, instead of the artist’ name, is Hannah’s.

 

 

 


	3. The Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nora watches the scene with mild fascination. The boy standing next to Negan on the platform stares at the Saviors below. His skin looks clammy, shirt drenched with sweat even though the sun has gone down hours ago and the air is cold, even inside the factory. His hair is dark and eyes now wide, mouth hanging open as he tries to catch his breath. It’s hard to tell how old he is. Fifteen, if he’s small for his age, though fourteen or thirteen seems more likely.

Negan’s speech delivers the news Nora had already heard over the radios. Alexandria has been dealt with. Their first offering will be within a week though Arat is already readying the trucks so they can head there in three days to shake them up and show them that Negan is in charge now. Keep them on their toes.

The boy is called Daryl, apparently, and Negan calls him a guest of honor and his new pet in the same breath. He’ll be on a short leash for a while, but he’s not to be bothered by anyone or they will get the iron. There’s fondness in the way Negan beams down at him and squeezes his shoulder though it disappears quickly when he shoves the kid towards Simon, who will show him his room.

It’s been a long night for the little one, Negan smirks and Nora cocks her head to the side. They don’t usually take prisoners. There are rooms near the infirmary that people refer to as cells, but they’re used for people who are so ill that they might die during the night and turn. They’ve been empty for months now.

She wonders what drove Negan to take the boy from his home, but the leader doesn’t mention the kid again. There’s boasting about their new resources, how brave the Saviors fought tonight, how big their territory is now. Nora’s head perks up when Negan awards every soldier extra points for a job well done.

Everyone is dismissed when Negan heads back to his own room. Lucille on his shoulder, dripping blood. Arm already outstretched and fingers snapping to summon one of his wives who’ll curl into his side. Only when the door closes behind him, do people get up and go back to whatever they were doing.

Nora pushes through the crowd just as the lower doors open. Soldiers enter the building, laughing among each other, pushing and shoving to get rid of the lingering adrenaline. Most slink away to go to their own rooms to finally get some sleep. Nora stands on the tips of her toes to scan the group, only falling back onto her heels when she sees a familiar mop of brown hair, held back by a red bandana.

It’s Oliver, who pushes his way past his fellow soldiers with a grin on his face. He ignores the catcalls and scoops Nora up in his arms, hugging her tightly. ‘Hey,’ he breathes into her skin.

‘Hey you,’ Nora says as she runs her hand through his hair, loving how thick it is. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine, fine, no problem, hey –‘ Oliver tears himself out of the embrace and looks giddy, ‘did you hear about the extra points?’

‘I did,’ Nora laughs, cupping his cheek with one hand. ‘Fresh vegetables?’

‘Oh fuck that,’ Oliver crowds her, hands on her hips as he starts to press light kisses to her cheek and neck. ‘Think – you think the doc still has one of those strips you can take? With the pills? Could buy that now – Terrance keeps driving up the price on those rubbers, I don’t know if-’

Nora grins, ‘you didn’t think I was serious about the vegetables, right? Yeah, I can ask the doctor about the birth control pills, you fool.’

‘Thank God,’ Oliver says as he hugs her tightly. ‘We can get some fresh food if there’s anything left.’

‘What a world that we prioritize birth control pills over fresh produce.’

Oliver makes a noise of agreement, ‘we could just go celibate.’

‘No, we can’t,’ Nora laughs as she hugs him back, fingers digging into his shoulders. ‘I don’t want to. Besides,’ she pushes him back again so she can see his face clearly, ‘I got Negan’s favorite truck running, so I bet I’ll get some extra points for that.’

‘No way.’

‘Tommy let me have a crack at it while you were gone. What, you think I was just sitting around, waiting for you to come home? I hustle. I want sex _and_ tomatoes.’ She laughs and looks up to the rafters where Negan’s room is, ‘I’ll go tell him in a minute. He seems to be in a good mood. Double extra points?’ she wiggles her eyebrows.

Oliver’s face falls. ‘Can’t you send Tommy to get the points? I don’t like the way he looks at you.’

‘You don’t like the way anyone looks at me,’ Nora jokes while shoving his shoulder playfully. ‘Oh, come on Oli. The guy is married to what- five of the hottest girls at the Sanctuary? He’s not looking twice at the mechanic.’

Oliver frowns.

‘And even if he is,’ Nora says, stroking her hand up and down her boyfriend’s arm, ‘I’m not interested. He’ll respect that, at least.’

‘Just be careful. He makes his own rules, you know that.’

‘I know,’ she takes his hand and leads him down the hallway, to the next hall. The enormous room has been divided into bedrooms, the walls made of curtains, rooms barely big enough to fit two mattresses next to each other. Some people have traded in points to get real beds, heavy and rich-looking, taking up every inch of the space, but most haven’t bothered. Others worked their way up to earn their own private bedrooms on the second floor, away from the noise and with the privacy that comes with actual walls and doors.

Nora still dreams of owning a room of their own. A good bed and maybe even a table and chairs at which they can eat their breakfast and dinner in private. The two of them, living on their own. It’s the closest thing they’ll come to the life she remembers and the goals she used to have. Get out of her parents’ house, get a place of her own, maybe find the right person to share it all with. She’s not willing to let the dream go even though the world ended.

When she reaches their space, Nora falls down onto their mattress, dragging Oliver down with her. The curtains flutter around them. Shadows move over the fabric. She listens to her boyfriend’s breathing and the people around them. It’s never quiet here, not even late at night. There are always people on their way to their jobs, guards returning from their nightshifts, parents up with sickly children or the elderly coughing until someone brings them some water.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

Oliver nods but buries himself deeper in her embrace. He’s heavy on top of her, his nose cold as he settles in. ‘It was a long night, that’s all.’

Nora hums. Her hand strokes over his back. ‘What’s up with the kid? I’ve never seen Negan bring someone back – well, other than the doctor, of course.’

‘Fucking animals.’

‘Hmm?’

Oliver shifts off of her, propping his head up with his hand. ‘They have this place called Alexandria, right? It’s like a little town. We thought we’d have a civilized conversation with them, offer our protection from the dead like we always do. These people – fuck, they don’t need any protection all right.’

Nora frowns. ‘Isn’t that what Negan suspected after what happened to the outpost? The Kingdom and Oceanside never give any trouble and Hilltop is far too concerned about their doctor to try anything. New players on the board, right? We knew they’d be dangerous, that’s why Negan took a whole damn army with him.’

‘Right,’ Oliver agrees. ‘We caught them off guard though. Picked them off one by one at different sites. All their soldiers, I mean.’

‘You mean-‘

‘The kid was there. These people? They trained that kid to fight, and I’m not talking about some self-defense lessons against the walkers. Dwight ran into the group before, said one of his men was holding onto the kid, you know? Just to make sure. Something happened and that kid turned around and slit the guy’s throat.’

Nora’s eyes widen.

‘It’s where Dwight got that crossbow from – it used to belong to the kid. Do you know how long you have to train to use a crossbow in a fight? Like – a long ass time. They’ve been training that boy to kill for _years_.’

‘They use crossbows to hunt, right? Maybe they taught him how to hunt and-‘

‘He slit the guy’s throat and then grabbed an automatic rifle to mow the rest of them down, too. Managed to get two more. He killed three people in less than five minutes, someone trained him, all right. Besides, how old is that kid? Thirteen? Fourteen maybe? Who sends a thirteen-year-old out into this world to hunt?’ Oliver sighs. ‘It’s a good thing Negan stepped in and took him with us. Savages.’

Nora looks at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know, taking a kid from his family? I mean…’

‘Sometimes it’s for the better,’ he says, but he doesn’t look so sure.

‘I guess so.’ She reaches out to brush Oliver’s fringe back. ‘You look tired.’

Oliver chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. ‘You love me, right?’

Her hand cups his jaw, ‘I just said you looked tired. Of course I love you. I’ll love you even when you’re all old and wrinkly.’

‘Just because you’ll be all old and wrinkly, too,’ Oliver mutters.

‘I hope so.’

Her boyfriend smiles and closes his eyes. She waits until he’s asleep to slip out of the bed and head up to Negan’s quarters.

 

 

Breakfast is a rowdy affair. Nora usually works a regular nine to five shift like most people inside the factory, so it’s always busy in the dining hall. Soldiers on their way to relieve the early morning shift, cleaners getting ready to scrub the floors and bathrooms. The ones on laundry duty tease the new guy who claims to have sore muscles from carrying the wet piles of clothes to the driers. The few children they have run around, their voices shrill with exhilaration now that they don’t have to try and be quiet.

Nora makes her way over to her usual table in the back corner. It’s one of the smaller tables, there’s really only space for four people, which suits her fine. Two of her friends have snagged seats at it as well, their legs kicked out under the table. Susan is holding onto a cup of steaming coffee for dear life, eyes closed and head lolled back. Coffee is expensive but a habit she hasn’t been able to kick.

Harris is digging into his own breakfast next to her. Eggs and freshly baked bread, a tall glass of orange juice as well. Sometimes there are pancakes, or he has a side of bacon. He’s a soldier just like Oliver and Negan rewards their dangerous job with a hearty breakfast.

‘Look at you,’ Harris says when Nora sits down. ‘Is it your birthday or something?’

‘I got Negan’s truck to run,’ Nora grins giddily. She has a stack of pancakes on her plate, dripping with syrup and topped with fresh fruit from the Kingdom. A glass of actual milk.

Susan opens one eye and groans. ‘That looks so good.’

‘It does,’ Harris says before pushing his plate over to Susan to share, like they always do. ‘Enjoy, you earned it Nora. Arat has been bitching and moaning about that truck for weeks now.’

‘You mean Negan has been bitching and moaning about it.’

Harris smirks but glances around the dining hall. ‘He better not hear you say that.’

Nora rolls her eyes, ‘as if he would ever show his face around here. This is where the commoners eat.’

‘All, except Oli,’ the man says while kicking the empty chair next to Nora, ‘are you letting him sleep in again?’

‘His next shift isn’t until tomorrow, he can sleep in this one time.’

‘This one time,’ Susan parrots while nudging Harris. They laugh.

‘He works hard,’ Nora says and she can’t help but sound defensive. Oliver has been a soldier for several years now but he’s never moved up the ranks. During one of his first shifts, he’d shared his water with one of the prisoners working out in the yard on a hot day. Nobody has ever let him forget it. He’s not tough like Arat, or cunning like Simon and nice guys don’t catch Negan’s eye in a good way.

Two hands get planted on the table by someone appearing next to them. It’s a young man, barely out of his teens. He’s breathing heavily like he ran a long way. ‘Susan, I need a PlayStation. You got one?’

Susan frowns and looks over at the man. ‘You need a _what_?’

‘It’s a game console, for videogames.’

‘I know what it is, jack-ass.’

Harris snorts while Nora hides her grin behind her glass of milk.

The young man looks confused for a second. ‘Well?’ he edges, ‘do you have one then? Any console. Can be an Xbox, too. Anything.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ Susan says as she licks coffee of the small spoon with a cocked eyebrow, ‘but it’s going to cost you.’

‘It’s for Negan.’

‘Then it’s going to cost Negan.’ She leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes. ‘What does Negan need a game console for?’

‘The kid likes videogames,’ the man says as he glances over his shoulder. ‘Can you open your shop up early for me? I really need it.’

‘Let me guess,’ Harris says, ‘Negan send a bunch of you off to get it and you want to impress the man.’

The young man nods. ‘Come on, Susan, _please_. Paul’s going to that store near the Kingdom to get it, so he doesn’t stand a chance, but George is hassling Arat about that console in their break room. I need your help. I need to get back fast before she caves!’

Susan thinks about that for a moment. ‘Sounds like rush order to me. That’s extra.’

‘Whatever,’ the man groans, ‘just open up your shop for me.’

‘Opening up early is extra, too,’ Susan says but she gets up after another quick sip from Harris’ coffee. ‘Let’s go.’

Harris watches them both leave. ‘How long until that kid figures out that hassling Arat will get you nowhere? He had that in the bag just because he knows Susan sells useless crap like that.’

Nora laughs. ‘I hope nobody tells him. Susan can use the extra points.’ She finishes her pancake and stretches, ‘anyway, you were being nasty to my boyfriend earlier but you don’t seem to be in a rush yourself. Day off?’

Harris rolls his eyes but still laughs at her. ‘Being nasty, yeah right. To answer your mean dig; I do have the day off. I have to rest up because tomorrow I have the very important, very strenuous task of looking after the new kid. It’ll be even harder now that he has a game console and won’t be running around the factory, of course, so I’ll have to go to bed early today.’

‘Of course,’ Nora nods. She empties her glass and gets up. ‘See you later!’

 

 

It’s the last time she spoke to Harris.

The next morning, rumors make the rounds before the soldiers do. People huddle together at their breakfast tables, whisper to each other while standing in line. Wild stories about the kid Negan has brought home. Rumors about the new group they’ve saved. Some even dare to speculate about why Negan had needed so many men while normally his mere presence is enough to make people kneel.

Nora hates rumors. She used to love them, before the outbreak when she was working in an office where the only joy was at another’s expense. Asinine talk about who might be sleeping with someone other than their spouse, passing stories along and tweaking them to make them a tad bit more interesting, leaning in when someone else did too while whispering she couldn’t tell anyone else about this, but…

Rumors after the outbreak are even uglier. People whispering about that one guy with the missing fingers, how he’d gotten bit while trying to pull a golden tooth out of a dead man’s mouth in the beginning. That horror story about how that one woman lost a child. Talk about why one of the younger cooks doesn’t want anyone to use his real name, why the grandmother to many refuses to hold a child.

The nightmares those rumors brought about cured her of her love for them. Working at the garage helped, too. Most of the guys don’t have time to waste on chitchat. Points don’t come easy in these lower ranks and the more time they spend standing around, talking, the hungrier they will be at the end of the week.

That’s why it draws Nora’s attention when one of the guys slides onto the hood of a car next to hers to talk to one of his buddies, leaning in close to ask whether he’d heard already.

Two guards – killed.

The wrench almost slips from Nora’s hand as she quickly straightens up.

The guy looks over because of her sudden movement, and makes a throw-away gesture. ‘Not yours. Goddamn, I would have told you if it had been yours, girl. Oli’s watching grass grow like he always does.’

Normally she’d try to snap back about how standing guard is an important job but now her shoulders just sag with relief. ‘What happened? How could they have gotten bit?’

‘They didn’t, I said they got killed,’ the guy says, ‘not bit. That kid they rescued from those Alexandria people; he’s messed up in the head. Everyone thought he was harmless, right? Scrawny little thing, scared-looking like that? Negan put him in one of the good rooms, too. He likes the kid.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Nora says with a frown. ‘What does the kid have to do with the guards-‘

‘He took a piece of wood and killed the guard who came to get him for breakfast. Imagine that! That little asshole broke a piece off the bedframe and rammed it into the guard’s eye! Took the sucker’s knife and killed another.’

‘Christ,’ the man’s friend breathes. ‘I’m sorry that happened, but – it’s a good thing Negan got that kid out of there. The kid’s what? Thirteen?’

‘Something like that, yeah.’

A coldness suddenly drips into Nora’s chest, freezing her where she stands. Her mind flashes back to yesterday morning, to Harris joking about needing to rest up before he had to guard the kid. ‘The guards – what were their names?’ she asks breathlessly.

Minutes later, she runs down the hallway before bursting into the common hall. Down one of the corridors, jumping over stray pillows and toys, pushing curtains and drying clothes aside until she gets to Susan’s bed.

Oliver is already there. He’s holding Susan, who’s crying on his shoulder, fingers digging into his neck and back, turning white from the pressure. He looks relieved when he spots Nora but doesn’t move away from their friend. He holds her just as tightly, strokes her hair while whispering in her ear.

‘I just got off my shift,’ he says when Nora sinks to her knees in front of her friend.

‘I just heard, I’m so sorry, Susie.

When Susan holds out a trembling hand, she takes it, kisses the back and holds on.

 

 

There are rules.

There’s punishment.

Nora’s seen men’s faces getting burned after putting their hands on Negan’s wives, a woman’s hand getting cut off after she was caught stealing, screaming people being dragged towards and put on the fence after a death sentence. There are people in beige jumpsuits sweeping floors or managing the walkers outside. She doesn’t know what they did or where they even came from. She has learned not to ask too many questions.

There’s bitterness in her heart after she found out what the kid had done to Harris, which only grows when there’s no punishment for the boy. She’d expected him to work the wall if he was such a tough guy to scare him straight. Maybe he’d even have to sweep the garage and she’d be able to make it just a little bit worse for him. It’s a kid, and everyone knows Negan loves children, so she hadn’t expected Daryl to be executed like a grown-man would have been, but she hadn’t expected nothing to happen either.

‘He _killed_ them.’

Oliver sighs while sharpening his knife. ‘I know.’

‘He’s just getting away with that?’

Oliver chews on the inside of his cheek and doesn’t say anything.

‘Harris was your friend, too. Can’t you say something to Arat? Ask Negan to-‘

‘No, I can’t,’ Oliver snaps. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

‘You won’t, you mean. You could if you really cared! You _would_ if you really-‘

Oliver is up in a flash. ‘Don’t try to guilt trip me into digging my own grave! You have no idea what’s going on! You think – what? That he got away with it? Are you kidding me?’ He hisses, trying to keep his voice low but glancing around when the last words fade away. Everyone is always listening here. There’s no point in trying to keep any secrets.

Nora narrows her eyes and grabs his hand, dragging him out of their common hall. She feels how he adjust his hand, grabbing hers tightly, twining their fingers together. He walks closer to her, a hand on her hip at times.

Someone wolf-whistles as they stumble past.

‘Pigs,’ Oliver mutters as they head deep into the Sanctuary, rounding several corridors until they reach the staircase. He sits down on the bottom step while Nora leans against the wall with folded arms. ‘Sorry, you know what they’re like. If they think we’re fighting, at least four of them are going to play detective and try to figure out what’s going on.’

‘And you think they don’t want a glimpse of us when we’re not fighting?’

Oliver snorts. ‘Let’s hope they’re bored of it by now.’

Nora smiles and sits down next to him on the step. ‘Probably.’ She reaches out to run her hand through his hair. He looks tired. At first, she’d thought it had been because of Harris. The loss has hit their little group hard. Skipping breakfast has been easier than facing his empty seat, but now she’s not so sure anymore. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

‘I don’t know. I mean – he killed Harris, I want him to pay, of course I do, but…’ Oliver trials off and works his jaw. He looks at the floor instead of meeting Nora’s eye. ‘They’re… I…’

‘Oli,’ Nora says as she puts a hand on his chin to make him look at her, ‘spit it out.’

‘When they caught him? Someone called Negan down, everyone was afraid to put their hands on the kid – you know what Negan’s like when it comes to kids, but… Kid tried to be clever. Brave, maybe. He’s tough. Like, _tough_. He thought he could deal with Negan handing him his ass.’

Nora frowns.

‘Everyone’s Negan, right?’ Oliver says. ‘Everyone got to have a go at him.’

‘Did you-‘

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Oliver asks, his voice rising in pitch which tells Nora he already knows he’s in the wrong. ‘They’re already shitting all over me, and that’s just the lieutenants. I tell Negan no? He’ll put me on the wall for sure.’

‘You had a go at him, what does that even mean?’

‘We beat him up!’ Oliver says, voice shrill now. Eyes wide in fear, hands flailing.

Nora just stares at him for a second. ‘You beat up a kid?’

‘Yeah! Well – you wanted him to be punished too!’

‘I didn’t mean – Jesus, Oli, I wanted him to sweep the garage floor until the end of his days, have him wear that god-awful jumpsuit and serve his sentence. I wanted him to work the wall!’

Oliver puts his head in his hands and breathes through his mouth.

‘ _Jesus_.’

‘I know,’ Oliver mutters. ‘He was… it was bad. Everyone was so angry. They had to drag him to his cell – he couldn’t walk.’ He sighs and turns back to Nora, hands falling from his face. ‘That’s not even it, or all of it. Negan told us to lock him up in one of the cells.’

Nora frowns, ‘yeah. So?’

‘Dwight’s got him under his care. Kid’s not allowed to wear clothes so he’s fucking freezing all the time, no bed, no showers. He has to piss and shit in a bucket. They feed him sandwiches that got dogfood on them, so he’s throwing up all the time. They won’t let him sleep either. Every time he puts his head down, they play some god-awful song to keep him up.’ Oliver runs a hand through his hair and looks torn. ‘It’s torture.’

‘Yeah,’ Nora says breathlessly.

Oliver plucks at the laces of his boots. ‘When we got those Alexandria assholes, Negan had them all on his knees. He wanted some vengeance for the outpost and let Lucille loose on two of them. One of them was his dad or something.’ He bites on his fingernails before glancing at his boyfriend. ‘Somebody took their picture. After. It’s in the kid’s cell.’

Nora gets up and starts to walk up and down the hallway. ‘That’s fucked up. That’s _fucked up_ , Oli!’

Oliver nods. He’s chewing on his cheek again and only looks up when Nora touches the top of his head. When he speaks, he whispers. ‘How’s that saving anyone?’

 

 

It’s almost two weeks later when Nora spots the boy again. She expected a swell of hatred in her chest, or her heart to clench at the sight of him, but instead there’s only confusion. Slinking after Negan’s intimidating form, head down and hair hidden under a black baseball cap, he’s hardly the monster he’d become in her mind.

It’s a kid, wearing a costume that’s meant to make him look all grown up and tough. Black boots and dark jeans, a leather jacket to match Negan’s. There’s a small wound under his eyebrow still, but it’s the only reminder of the beating he’d received from the guards.

Negan seems to be infatuated with the kid. Shows him off like a trained pet and beats him at ping-pong. It’s obvious the kid never played the game before but that doesn’t matter to Negan until he gets bored with the easy points.

Nora watches the two of them from the couch. She’s hanging out with Oliver’s friends, most of whom are guards themselves. One of them pick up the small bat to play a game with Negan while the boy climbs onto a nearby cabinet to watch.

Wade comes in to report and Nora doesn’t understand why he’s doing it in a crowded room when there’s an empty office nearby until the name Alexandria gets dropped. They’re going there tomorrow. A show of force. Show them who put the fear of death in Rick’s eyes.

Negan calls the boy killer and it doesn’t seem to bother him.

He’s worried about his family.

Nora tries to wrap her head around it all. The boy looks scared for his people, refers to them as his family, mourns his dad and friend, but Negan had saved him from their clutches. He’d served his punishment for killing the guards in his confusion, he’s living like a little king now, but the big blue eyes still get misty.

‘Ain’t crying,’ he says when Negan calls him out.

When he flees to his room to hide any actual tears, Negan raises Fat Joey over the radio.

See if he tries to escape.

If he does, teach him all the way.

Nora’s frightened gaze finds Oliver’s, but he looks at her pleadingly. This is his chance. Everyone’s laughing, having a good time and he hasn’t messed up in a while now. Maybe he can get on a lieutenant’s good side tonight, maybe he can even catch Negan’s eye, or play a game with him. There’s a shot at a promotion here and he’s asking her silently not to ruin it for the both of them.

She bites her tongue.

Swallows the blood.

 

 

The following night, Nora sits outside to wait for the group of Saviors to return. Oliver is one of the drivers and she has long since given up on trying to sleep while he’s away. The night is quite warm. It’s better to sit out here than in the sleeping quarters where everyone is restless. The moaning of the dead on the wall don’t bother her anymore. She watches how guards slowly walk past the chain link to keep them all safe.

The group arrives in a cloud of dust and Nora smiles when she watches how Oliver jumps out as the last one of his unit. Hair sticking up after running his hand through it one too many times, color on his cheeks from concentrating so hard.

Nora stays seated as to not draw any attention to herself. She doesn’t want to appear as a desperate housewife, waiting for her man to come home, nor the relentless teasing that will come from the rest of the soldiers. So she sits and watches the group disperse slowly.

Her eye is drawn to the big, black truck that Negan always prefers. She got it running for him just in time, it seems. Negan travels a lot these days.

This time, it’s not just Negan who jumps out of the cabin, however.

Daryl lands in the dust next to him. As soon as his boots hit the ground, Nora knows that something is wrong with him. He stumbles and nearly falls. Negan has to grab hold of his shoulder to keep him up right. They walk past. The boy looks sick. Skin pale and clammy, shimmering because of the sweat on his brow. Shirt plastered to his chest, stained and dirty, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes are vacant. He barely reacts when Negan yanks him towards the building, just stumbles along, mouth slightly open as if he can’t breathe right.

When Negan is out of sight, the soldiers hurry back inside to get to their own families or their beds. Oliver comes over towards the bench, so used to her hiding in the shadows there.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he falls to his knees before her and puts his head in her lap. Eyes closed as he holds onto her calves.

‘What happened?’ Nora asks as she leans forward to shield him, a hand on his fragile, exposed neck.

Oliver shakes his head and refuses to tell what happened in Alexandria.

Hours later, a soldier makes his way over to Oliver and Nora’s bed to wake the man with a kick to their pillow. He’s annoyed and tired, grousing to Oliver about checking up on the kid every hour on the hour because he’d gone ahead and done something stupid.

Oliver sits up to rub at his eyes. ‘Daryl? What’s he done?’

The soldier makes an irritated sound. ‘He’s on suicide watch, moron. You do the math. Every hour, on the hour, Negan’s orders. You got the nightshift, greenie.’ He’s gone before Oliver can object, not that he’d planned on doing so.

Nora goes back to sleep soon after, but nightmares terrorize her all night long.

A week goes by before she spots Daryl again. He comes stumbling down the corridor, staggers into the market place after almost tripping down the staircase. Fat Joey is following him around to make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble.

He looks terrible. Paler than ever and skinny, too. Eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. He clutches his head, bumps into walls and seems too dazed to understand what’s going on around him. People bump into him. He almost falls a couple of times.

Nora is sitting next to Susan behind her strange little stand on the market. She watches how the boy falls onto a step after talking to Fat Joey for a second. He tries to make himself smaller by curling his shoulders in, blunt nails scratch his own cheeks.

She’s so busy looking at the boy that she almost misses Negan’s entrance behind him.

A looming shadow slowly descending the staircase.

Nora falls to her knees but doesn’t bow her head. She watches how Negan strokes the boy’s hair. Daryl doesn’t react. Suddenly, there’s worry on Negan’s face as he kneels down next to kid to speak urgently to him, but his posture soon relaxes, oozes that arrogance again when the boy grabs hold of his leather jacket. Pulls him close. Trembles and whispers and he looks so helpless and lost that Nora’s heart break for him.

Negan picks him up and Nora almost stands, too.

It’s not right.

It’s not what people think.

The boy wasn’t saved that night in the woods, when his father was killed. Negan didn’t bring him here to help him get back on his feet, to get him away from those monsters who’d taught him how to fight.

Negan brought him here to break him.

And he did.

 

 

Everyone thinks Negan finally succeeded when the boy appears to be recovering days later. He starts to eat again, slinks around the Sanctuary with Fat Joey, trails after Negan like a lost puppy and learns to appreciate a game of ping-pong. He slowly finds his voice and starts talking to vendors, jokes around with Laura and teases the guards when he can get away with it. It makes people laugh. It makes people fond of him.

There aren’t too many children at the Sanctuary and most people appreciate the noise he brings. The shrill laughter and running footsteps when he’s chased around by guard for fun, or the booming voice of their leader who likes to show off his new son.

The little prince.

It makes Nora sick to her stomach.

‘He’s happier like this!’ Oliver insists late one night while they’re back on the staircase.

‘Negan took him from his home! He broke the kid’s mind! You won’t even talk about what happened at Alexandria! Did you see monsters there? Is it a hellhole where they raise little boys to be killers, like you thought they did? Hmm? Or is that just something we made up because we’ve never met a kid who’s been out there for this long? One who survived?’

‘Stop it. He is happy _now_!’

Nora shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe it. He was on _suicide watch_!’

‘But he isn’t anymore! Look at him! He’s happy! He’s healthy!’

‘He belongs with his family!’

‘Now you’re on his side? He killed Harris!’

Nora makes a sound of anger and annoyance. ‘ _His side_? You guys were torturing him! I think he’s suffered enough!’

Oliver blinks up at her. ‘ _You guys_?’

‘The guards! Negan! Whoever else was involved! You beat the shit out of him!’

Oliver jumps up, ‘well, you didn’t run up there to stop it, so don’t pretend like you’re so innocent in all of this!’

‘How is this _my_ fault?’

‘You’re acting like I made him sit and look at his mom’s grave, I didn’t-‘

‘He had to do _what_?’

Oliver groans, ‘he was acting out and Negan-‘

Nora’s head whips to the side when a familiar sound registers. ‘Ssst! Listen,’ an engine roars outside, the sound of two wheels skidding over the loose earth outside of the complex. She hurries towards the window to look, Oliver pressing up behind her to glance out as well. ‘That’s Daryl’s bike.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I worked on it for a bit, his wiring was weird. Is he- oh my God, look!’

They watch how the bike races across the bridge.

‘That’s him. Oh my God, he got out. Someone bailed him out!’

Oliver’s hand goes to his radio.

Nora spins around and pushes him away from the window. ‘You raise the alarm and we’re done,’ she says with a shaky voice, finger pointed at his face. ‘We’re _done_ , you hear me. Let him go. Oli, please. Let him go.’

Instead of going for his radio, Oliver takes a step forward again. He hugs her tightly, relaxes in her embrace.

 

 

A year passes in the blink of an eye.

There’s war. Friends die in major battles and for once, Nora is thankful that Oliver isn’t entrusted with important tasks. That he’s a nobody who can just sink to his knees when Rick Grimes finally lands the last blow to bring Negan down and returns to claim the New World. She’s thankful that he was kind when it mattered, that the prisoners of the Sanctuary remember him as a good man and decide to spare his life when the roles get reversed.

There’s peace. People still die now that the community has to survive on its own. There are no supplies coming from Alexandria, the Kingdom, Oceanside or even Hilltop Colony for a long time. It’s a factory and turning their place of industry into a farm is harder than anyone would have thought. Their harvest won’t feed them all.

There are talks and Dwight swears that he’s trying as hard as he can but the hatred for their community runs deep and nobody can really blame them. Not after everyone found out what happened to Oceanside. Not after people heard that they hadn’t been protecting the other communities from the dead, but that they were just leeching off of them like a parasite who took their children to boot.

Trade is possible thanks to their bio-fuel. People cry when Hilltop sends help at long last.

Their little prince hasn’t forgotten them, has never abandoned them.

It amazes Nora how many people are unwilling to see what really happened. Even after all the stories of Negan’s cruelty, they still think of the boy as the Sanctuary’s son. They only remember him while getting a piggy-ride from Negan down a hallway, think about him laughing with his wives, fondly recall him looking out over them with Lucille on his shoulder – oh how much he looked like his dad.

They forget the bruises. Don’t remember the blood dripping down his leg and seeping into the denim, staining his inner thigh. Pretend they never heard him scream at night. Refuse to believe that he never wanted to be there.

The boy returns as a man.

High up on his beautiful horse, face sterner now and shoulders broader. His legendary crossbow on his back, knife on his belt. A gun. Flanked by his sister and his men, he comes home the leader of his group.

His feet seem unsteady until they find their rhythm. There’s fear in the way he bares his teeth at anyone who reminds him of his previous stay here and people back away, hurt, confused, warily whispering how different he is now. He reluctantly shows his sister the way to the medical bay where her help is so desperately needed.

He knows the way to their rooms.

In the morning, his back is straight. His steps sure and confident. The fear is gone, molded into grim determination now. He strides into the dining hall with a bat on his shoulder and people seem relieved until they realize what he’s doing.

The bat catches fire.

 _For anyone who’s confused about who the hell I am_.

Nora squeezes Oliver’s hand but her gaze remains on the young man. She watches, just as fascinated as she’d been the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

 

 

 


	4. Oceanside

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘You _still_ haven’t caught anything?’

Robbie scowls at the swirling water beneath them. The water is so clear in some places that he can see the fish swimming past, going down the rocky river to get to the ocean beyond. They mostly ignore his bait and line. Sometimes they will nibble at the hook but they just steal the worm and move on. ‘Go away, Rachel.’

‘Want to see my fish? Hey, check it out! See how big it is? I caught it myself.’

Robbie doesn’t turn around to look. ‘Just _go away_!’

‘Why are you being so mean? It’s not my fault you can’t fish!’

He throws his fishing rod aside and grabs a fistful of leaves instead. Jumping to his feet, he throws them at Rachel’s face. With a heaving chest, he watches how they gently float back to the ground. He hasn’t thrown them hard enough for them to even touch her.

Rachel cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘You’re such a loser.’ Her curls bounce as she walks away, back towards the camp. There’s a pretty big fish dangling from her line.

With a grunt, he sits back down to keep an eye on his float but it doesn’t go under. The whole camp knows he’s a terrible fisherman. He has never caught anything, expect for the one time a fish was dumb enough to jump on board the boat by accident and had landed right at his feet. Everyone had pretended it had been his first catch just because he’d picked it up.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth now. He dreads going back to the camp with an empty bucket, especially when Rachel caught something. Nobody will be surprised of course, but that stings more than he’s willing to admit.

Just when he thinks his float is going down for the first time, an explosion rocks his whole world. He throws his rod aside and gets to his feet. Smoke billows into the air. He can hear people screaming through the trees, sees a couple of people run back towards camp from their fishing spots and smells the odd sting of gunpowder. He’s running before he realizes it. Over the patch of rocky ground and into the woods.

He cuts a corner and feels very clever for just a second.

Someone grabs his arm and throws him onto the ground. He grunts on impact and rolls a couple of times due to momentum but ends up on his back.

A man with an automatic rifle looms over him. ‘Stay down,’ he orders and moves on.

‘What the hell,’ Robbie breathes, shaking his head to clear it and then craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the stranger. Boots and dark jeans. There’s a hatchet hanging from his belt, the gun heavy in his hands. He doesn’t look back.

Robbie glances at the dark cloud now slowly disappearing above the treetops. More people walk past. A lady with tightly braided hair, a bald man, a girl, more men. Most of them have automatic weapons strapped to their backs. Every single one of them has a handgun on their belt or already in their hands. Knives glisten as they move through the trees.

Fear makes Robbie’s hands tremble. It’s been a long time since he’s seen strangers, and he tries to forget the last time he did. It’s not easy when his mom keeps telling him stories about his father he doesn’t want to hear. He can’t think about how kind he was, or about that one time he’d lost his glasses on that rollercoaster ride without thinking about how it all ended.

They’ve tried so hard to hide themselves, but the monsters are back.

Robbie digs his fingers into the earth, feels how cold it is, and pushes himself up. He tries to run, but is grabbed by the shoulder yet again.

‘Easy. Don’t cause any trouble now.’

It’s a teenager, probably five years older than him. He has an automatic rifle in his other hand, multiple holsters strapped to his belt and thigh. Dark hair peeks out from under a sheriff’s hat. A bandage covers one eye. The red scars surrounding the wound makes Robbie think it’s not that old yet. He looks stern but there’s warmth in his one brown eye.

‘My mom,’ Robbie says as his gaze flicks to where the black smoke used to be.

‘Those were our charges. Dare will have secured the armory by now, there won’t be a fight. Nobody needs to get hurt. Let’s go,’ the teenager gives a light shove to his shoulder to get him moving. Together, they walk back towards the camp.

Before they even reach it, Robbie can see his whole group kneeling on the open patch where the adults sometimes practice throwing their knives and spears. Nobody is armed now though. Everyone is kneeling in front of the man who’d thrown Robbie on the ground with an easy flick of his wrist.

The man looks back at them. The corner of his mouth moves up when his gaze lands on the teenager. Chin dipping down into a nod of approval.

‘Sit down, keep quiet,’ the young man says as he nudges Robbie.

Robbie does as he’s told. He tries to look for his mom in the crowd, but he can’t find her. Just a couple of second later however, he sees her.

She comes stumbling down the forest path that leads from the armory down to the beach. Her hands are bound behind her back, long blond hair falls into her face because she’s looking down at the uneven ground to make sure she doesn’t fall. Behind her, there are three men walking down the path but Robbie’s eyes are drawn to the fourth person, who is holding his mom’s arm to guide her towards the group.

It’s another teenager. Not as tall as his friends, but with broad shoulders and small eyes. He’s wearing a baseball cap to keep dark hair out of his face, a leather vest and military boots. Instead of an automatic rifle, he’s holding a wicked-looking crossbow. He pushes Robbie’s mom towards the group, stopping by the leader first.

The man greets the teenager with a fond look. His hand comes up to squeeze the back of his neck for a second. It must be a familiar gesture because the teenager leans into it.

‘Any trouble?’

‘Nah,’ the teenager says before he nudges his prisoner again. ‘Get down over there, and keep quiet.’

Robbie cranes his neck to try to catch his mother’s eye to keep sure she’s alright but cowers when one of the strangers looks at him sharply. The leader starts talking but is soon cut off by Natania, who is holding one of the strangers hostage by the looks of it. He tries to follow the conversation, but is distracted by the teenager.

He raises his bow. One eye narrows and then closes entirely as he takes aim to shoot Natania in the head.

Robbie wants to warn her, but the words get stuck in his throat. He feels stupid and selfish, but he doesn’t want the teenager to take aim at him, instead.

It doesn’t matter. One of his friends puts a gentle hand on the teenager’s arm, forcing the crossbow down. Another goes to stand in front of him to block his shot.

‘They want us to fight the Saviors,’ Cyndie says as she steps forward to address her people. She’s fierce, standing tall with the dark curls spilling over her shoulders. She’s the one who still dreams about meeting other people, despite what has happened to their community, to her family even. There’s still hope living inside of her, still a trust when she looks at the woman who’s being used as human shield by her grandmother.

Robbie admires her, but feels sick to his stomach when the cursed name comes up. While some feel a burning need for vengeance, he just wants to run away further and hide again. He’s not a fighter. His mom keeps saying he’s too young to learn. Secretly, he’s glad. He doubts he’d be any good at it.

‘ _Rick! Walkers_!’

Robbie’s gaze snaps up at the trees, where the voice had come from. When he looks back, Natania crumbles to the ground and Cyndie draws her hand back after knocking her out. The growls of walkers coming through the trees doesn’t give him much time to think about it all.

The leader from the new group, Rick, helps some of their fighters to their feet. He cuts their binds and gives his own knife to one of the women. He grabs his rifle and flicks the safety off, eyes searching for someone. His shoulders relax when the teenager with the bow slinks forward.

‘Dare, fire at will!’

‘Children to the back!’

There’s a pang of jealousy in Robbie’s chest as he quickly makes his way to the back of the group. He steps to the side to watch how the teenager brings his bow up and fires his first shot. A walker goes down. Another bolt. Another walker. His movements are confident. He never once messes up a shot, or fumble with a bolt.

When the walkers come within ten feet of the line, the others open fire as well. Robbie flinches at the loud sound. It seems to go on for about an hour, but he’s sure it’s just a couple of minutes. Some walkers manage to reach the line, but Oceanside’s fighters take care of those with quick slices of their blades.

A flash of blonde curls between the adults on the line attracts Robbie’s attention. He watches how Rachel kicks a walker to the ground so she can stab it in the head. She looks grim but proud when she straightens back up.

The fight is over shortly after that. Rick shakes hands with one of their fighters and Natania storms off but Robbie doesn’t pay it any mind. He pushes through the crowd to get to his mother, who is just handing back a knife to one of the stranger. She shakes his hand.

‘Mom!’

‘Robbie!’ She darts over to him and cups his face with both hands, ‘are you all right? They didn’t hurt you?’

‘No, I’m fine. I was by the river and – your arm!’

There are bruises blooming on her skin. She looks down and wipes a hand over them like it’ll make them disappear, ‘oh, it’s nothing. He didn’t mean to do that. Don’t look like that,’ she says with a little laugh as she drags him close for a tight hug. ‘You know I bruise like a peach.’

She does, but that’s not the point. He knows _that_.

Robbie turns to glare at the teenager, who is now talking to Cyndie. Crossbow on his back, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he wobbles on the balls of his feet.

The new group starts to carry crates with weapons and ammunition away from their camp. Robbie is glad to see them go, though he hates how vulnerable they are to another attack now. Without their guns, they won’t be able to defend themselves if the Saviors come back, or another group just like it comes along. It’s just a matter of time.

His mom presses a kiss to the side of his head and then moves to a small group of her friends who are standing nearby, whispering among each other. Robbie glances their way but decides to head over to where Rachel is standing.

The teenager flicks her off before he walks away with his people.

‘What did he do that for?’ Robbie asks with a wrinkled nose.

‘He’s an asshole,’ Rachel says but then she beams at him. ‘His name is Daryl. He’s going to teach me how to ride a horse! That’s so fucking cool.’

Robbie folds his arms in front of his chest and scowls.

He _hates_ Daryl.

 

 

Almost half of their fighters join the war to end the Saviors.

‘Please,’ Robbie whispers as he grabs his mother’s hand and tries to drag her back into their tiny room. ‘Don’t. Please don’t go.’

‘I have to,’ she says.

‘You don’t. You _don’t_!’ he urges. ‘We can just stay here. They haven’t found us yet. They’re not even looking for us!’

She looks sad when she cups his cheek with one hand. ‘I don’t want you to live like this.’

‘But it’s great! I like living like this! We have everything we need and – and I’ll learn how to fish, I promise. I’ll get really good at it, you’ll see! And then I’ll take a boat out, just like dad used to do and I’ll-‘

‘I don’t want you to live in fear like this,’ his mother says.

Robbie doesn’t know what to say to that. ‘I don’t mind,’ he tries, because he doesn’t.

His mother closes her eyes for a second but smiles. ‘I love you so much. I’m doing this for you, you know that, right?’

‘Yeah, but-‘

‘I have to go now.’ She hugs him one more time, so tightly that it takes his breath away. She kisses his cheeks, his brow, his forehead. Another hug, and then she’s gone.

He stands there.

Waits.

She never makes it back.

 

 

Robbie is washing clothes because everyone seems to hate that chore, but he doesn’t mind doing it. There are two big tubs sitting out in the courtyard, one with clean water and one which he’s using now. It’s the one with all the soap in it. Bubbles pop whenever he dumps a new load in and starts to scrub it on the washboard.

He’s not wearing a shirt because it’ll just get soaked anyway. It’s early in the afternoon, so the sun is filtering through the trees. He hopes he’ll get a nice tan so Cyndie will stop teasing him about the freckles on his nose.

The sound of footsteps on the path snaking through the camp causes him to look up.

Rachel tilts her chin up in greeting.

‘Where are you going?’ Robbie asks with a creased forehead.

‘The gate?’ Rachel asks.

‘Why?’

‘You always miss everything, don’t you?’ she rolls her eyes. ‘Because Daryl is coming to visit, of course!’

Robbie picks up another shirt and start to scrub it. ‘Oh. Okay.’

That seems to catch Rachel off guard. She wanders closer, gaze lingering on the gate beyond for a moment before deciding that she has time. ‘You’re not excited he’s coming?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ she scrunches up her nose, ‘it’s _Daryl Dixon_.’

‘So?’

She snorts and puts her hands on her hips. ‘So he’s a legend. A war hero! Jesus called him the best fighter of the new world! Cyndie lets me listen to the radio sometimes, he’s always out there somewhere on another adventure.’

Robbie hunches his shoulder. ‘It’s called a _patrol_ , not an _adventure_.’

‘You just wish you could go on either one of those,’ Rachel says haughtily as she turns her nose up in the air and walks away towards the gate that’s always open these days.

Robbie scowls at her back and hates that she’s not wrong. He’s been trying to get Omaima to train him all winter, but she keeps insisting that he’s too young. She used to be a friend of his mother. At first, he’d tried to use that as leverage but it quickly exploded in his face. She won’t let him near a spear or knife now. Says it’s what his mother would have wanted.

He hasn’t gotten any better at fishing either. And to make it all worse, he has figured out that boats make him sea sick when they’re out on the ocean. One of the younger women on the crew had felt sorry for him and smuggled him on board for his first real fishing trip but ended up just rubbing his back soothingly as he threw up for hours.

The hot water bites at his fingers when he starts scrubbing the laundry. Just when he throws a shirt into the second tub to later wash the soap out, the sound of hooves reaches him. He jerks his head to look towards the gate. It causes him to miss his throw. The shirt splashes onto the ground.

He sets his jaw angrily.

Daryl Dixon comes blowing through the gate. High up on his beautiful horse everyone talks about, a fierce animal feared by every Savior during the war because it meant the youngest Dixon was never far. Named after the sandstorms in Egypt and Israel, and just as much a force of nature. Sweat makes her coat glisten now. She steps forwards and backwards restlessly until the teenager leans down to put a calming hand on her neck.

She neighs and shakes it off after a second but stands still anyway.

Daryl is taller than Robbie remembered. He’s wearing his trade-mark baseball cap backwards and the crossbow covers his angel wings. Army boots rest in the stirrups, jewelry glistens in the sunshine whenever he moves. He’s smiling down at Rachel. One hand curled around his reins, the other resting on the beautifully carved knife that’s always on his hip. His sudden burst of laughter seems to draw more people to the gate.

Cyndie comes running down the path with the radio still in her hand. Curls bounce as she jumps over the wet shirt in front of Robbie, heading towards the youngest Dixon who is now dismounting.

They hug.

Robbie works his jaw while watching.

Cyndie laughs at something the scout says. More people arrive, most are met with firm handshakes from the teenager. He reluctantly hands the reins over to one of the women and lets his hand linger on his horse just before she’s led towards their small stables.

It had surprised Robbie that nobody objected when Cyndie had announced they would be building the stables. There’s one place for about four horses, but they don’t have any and Robbie doesn’t understand why a horse can’t be tied to a tree instead. Especially since everyone knows that Daryl’s horse hates to be locked up and there haven’t been any other visitors.

‘Did you drop this?’ Daryl’s voice startles Robbie out of his thoughts. The scout is standing in front of him. He holds out the dripping wet shirt he picked up from the ground. There’s a small smile playing around his lips.

‘No.’ Robbie takes the shirt and drops it back onto the ground next to him. ‘It was fine where it was.’

Daryl’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostile tone but he doesn’t say anything as he falls into step beside Cyndie again. A brown leather bag hangs from his shoulder, it occasionally bumps against his crossbow. Robbie knows it’s filled with letters. Sometimes the guards at their border will come back with a whole stack of them but there must be more important news now that Daryl has traveled all this way to deliver them to Cyndie himself.

They disappear into Cyndie’s hut. Some of the village elders join them soon enough once news reaches them that the scout has arrived. They come from the ocean or the fields or the river. They have bottles of fresh water with them, and even a plate with fresh fish that has been prepared for the teenager.

Robbie sucks on his teeth. His shoulders hurt from sitting hunched over for an hour now and he tries to hurry to be done for the day. People walk past and ignore him in favor of getting to Cyndie’s hut and retrieve their letters from loved ones and friends from other communities. Robbie doesn’t have any friends outside of his community, and the adults who have moved away never write him.

‘Do you need help? It used to be my chore while I stayed at the Kingdom.’

Robbie glares at the soapy bubbles. ‘No.’ Then he glances up at Daryl, ‘aren’t you supposed to be in there?’

‘Cyndie’s readin’ the letters from the king, Maggie ‘nd Rick first, ‘s more important than whatever I got to say.’ Daryl puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His crossbow is gone, as is the bag.

Now, Robbie can see the thigh holster for his gun on his other leg. ‘Was that one of ours?’

‘’m sorry?’ Daryl asks while he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He plucks one out and lets it hang from his bottom lip as he rummages through his pockets to grab his lighter.

‘The gun. Was it one of ours?’

‘No. Rick gave it to me way back.’

Robbie narrows his eyes. ‘You were supposed to give them back. The guns.’

‘We will. Rick’s trying to figure out how many -‘

‘They’re _ours_!’

Daryl stops slouching as his face hardens, though the faint smile doesn’t fade. ‘You’ll get them back. As I was saying; some have been damaged during the war. Rick’s trying to figure out how many he needs to replace.’

‘Oh.’ Robbie breathes hard, with his heart pounding in his chest. He’s so angry and even angrier still because Daryl just took away the entire reason why he was mad in the first place. ‘Well – _okay_!’ His ears burn when the Dixon lifts an eyebrow at his lame response.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Robbie watches how he walks away. ‘You should just leave all together!’

Daryl turns around. He smokes his cigarette and doesn’t say anything.

‘ _Nobody wants you here_!’ Robbie shouts.

Cyndie comes out of her hut with a confused look on her face. She spots the two immediately and heads over. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Ain’t nothing, don’t worry about it.’

‘ _We don’t want you here_!’ Robbie screams. He pushes the barrel with water over with a grunt, expecting it to soak Daryl. It doesn’t happen. A wave breaks on Daryl’s watertight boots. A couple of droplets land on his light jeans.

‘ _Robbie_!’ Cyndie stalks over and grabs him by the shoulder. She starts to drag him towards his own hut. ‘I’ll be back in a second, Dare!’

The teenager watches them with narrowed eyes and smokes his cigarette in silence.

When they’re inside his room, Robbie stomps over to his bed and sits on it. Feet on the blanket as he hides behind his own knees. He’s so angry, he wants to cry.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Cyndie seethes. ‘What has he ever done to you? You wasted all that water, Rob!’

He shrugs.

‘You better start talking.’

‘I don’t know!’

‘You don’t know why you just tried to… drown Daryl’s feet?’ She laughs and cocks her head, trying to catch his eye.

He refuses to meet hers. ‘He was mean to me.’

‘He was mean to you,’ Cyndie deadpans. ‘I don’t think he was, Rob.’

‘Why won’t you believe me? Why are you on his side? Why does everyone like him? Why’s everyone so-‘ He cuts himself off and angrily plucks at his jeans. ‘He’s _stupid_.’

‘Rob,’ Cyndie’s voice is soft and gentle.

‘I _hate_ him.’

‘Just because your mom was with Dare’s team, that doesn’t mean he could have done anything to prevent her from dying, Rob. It wasn’t his fault.’

‘How do you know? You weren’t even there,’ Robbie says and he hates how his eyes are clouding over by tears. When he blinks, they roll down his cheeks. He refuses to wipe them away and draw more attention to them.

‘Maybe you should talk to Daryl. He can probably tell you what happened.’ Cyndie sits down on the bed next to him.

‘I don’t care.’

‘You do.’

‘ _I don’t care_!’ Robbie screams into her face.

Cyndie looks shocked for just a moment. She gets up again. ‘I’ll… I’ll let you calm down.’

He doesn’t calm down. Not when he hears Cyndie walk back to her own hut, not when Rachel tears past screaming that Daryl will give her a quick riding lesson later, not when people walk past his door while talking about what a couple of sweet boys Maggie has.

Not when he presses the palms of his hands into his eyes to make himself stop crying.

Not when the gate is finally closed again and Daryl Dixon is long gone.

 

 

Months later, everyone has gathered in the square to hear the news about Washington. They listen to Cyndie, who tells them about the big city, the people living there, the boy who’d ventured out and had run into the Kingdom’s people. How a group had found the station, had convinced the people there to talk to them.

Trade. New information. New technology. None of that matters to Robbie. He thinks about the big city, how exciting it must have been to go through those streets, how thrilling to find a new community and then get invited in. He’s not sure what underground train stations look like, he’s never been on a metro before. He can only imagine.

And it’s _awesome_.

One of the women frowns, ‘who made first contact?’

Cyndie grins. ‘Who do you think? The best hunter we have tracked them down.’

Robbie’s smile falls while everyone else laughs.

 

 

Enid’s one of the most beautiful girls Robbie has ever seen. She’d arrived three days ago with several people from Alexandria to help them bring all their trade to the big market that’s being held in her community. Today, they’re all getting ready to head over to Alexandria.

The horses are saddled and goods packed onto the carts. Robbie is carrying the last parcels filled with nets and salted fish. He waits until he can hand it to Sophie, who’s busy packing the last cart, and stares at their visitor. Enid is chatting to Sammy. Jacket zipped high up to her chin, hand resting on her gun, the other holding onto the reins of her horse.

‘Stop staring and give me the package.’

Robbie wonders whether she has a boyfriend.

‘Jesus,’ Sophia hits him over the head. ‘Stop staring at her like she’s a piece of meat. Grow some hair on your chest and she might glance your way, kid. Come on now.’ She holds her hand out for the parcel.

‘I did!’

Sophie frowns, ‘did what?’

‘Er…’ Robbie hesitates and suddenly feels weird, ‘grow hair on my chest?’

Sophie laughs loudly enough to make Enid and Sammy look over. ‘Well, it worked, kid,’ she says while wiping her tears away. ‘Now get out of here.’

Robbie is still sulking when they’re half-way to Alexandria. Most of the kids his age are traveling on the carts but he’d puffed up his chest and said he’d walk all the way. It hadn’t impressed Enid, he doubts she even heard it in the chaos and he regrets saying it now.

It’s hot.

His feet hurt.

And despite walking at the front of their group, he still hasn’t had a chance to say something to Enid. He palms his water bottle and takes a deep breath. Just when he wants to take a quick step forward so he’s walking beside her horse, the sound of hooves on packed earth breaks the silence of the forest surrounding them.

Enid glances down and looks irritated when she sees him. ‘Get back! Where’s –‘ a whistle cuts through the noise. Her shoulders relax instantly, ‘never mind. Back up, kid.’ She looks up just in time to see a horse coming from the dense part of the forest.

Everyone knows that horse. Fast as lightning but a devil to handle.

‘What are you doing here?’ Enid laughs as the horse jumps onto the road and the rider has trouble staying in the saddle.

‘Missed you,’ Carl Grimes says with a giddy smile as he sits back up and pats Khamsin’s neck. He’s older than Robbie remembers. Taller and with stubble on his cheeks. The scars peeking out from under the bandage are a dull pink now. Old and healed. The horse wanders close to Enid’s. The boy leans over and kisses his girlfriend.

Something cold settles in Robbie’s stomach.

‘No car this time?’ Enid teases.

Carl laughs. ‘No.’

‘Better be careful. Dare will kill you if you wreck his ride.’

The teenager grins, ‘yeah. I thought he wouldn’t let me take her out at all, but here we are.’

Enid smiles. ‘He’s a good brother.’

Robbie rolls his eyes and abruptly stops walking to let the rest of his group pass by. When one of the carts rolls past him, he jumps onto the back to join his friends. Three weeks ago, they decided that they were all thirteen now. Nobody remembers the months or even years, every timeline is a jumble but they were all ten when it happened. That, everyone knows.

They celebrate their birthday when the first spring tide hits, that’s the rule.

Wassim cranes his neck, ‘is that Daryl’s horse?’

‘Who the hell cares,’ Robbie grumbles but ducks his head when the woman handling the cart looks back with a warning in her eye. ‘He’s-‘

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Wassim says as he rolls his eyes, ‘you hate him, but that’s his horse, right? That means he’s going to be home, right?’

‘Of course he’s going to be home,’ Hank scoffs. ‘It’s the biggest fair ever.’

‘He lives at Hilltop now, actually, so he’s not going to be home. He’s _visiting_ ,’ Rachel says.

‘ _Actually_ , he calls both Alexandria and Hilltop home, so…’ Hank sticks his tongue out, before craning his neck as if he’s trying to see the big gates. ‘It’ll be awesome though. Liz has visited Alexandria before. She says Daryl lives in this big mansion.’

Robbie grits his teeth.

‘Well, he lives with Maggie in Barrington house and that’s even bigger, so – where are you going?’

‘I’m walking the rest of the way,’ Robbie says as he jumps back down from the cart.

They arrive at Alexandria hours later, and Robbie’s glad that Daryl’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, they’re greeted by Rick Grimes and Michonne, who has Judith on her hip. The little girl is all shy smiles as she plays with her mom’s dreadlocks to hide from the new people.

The teenagers help with unloading the carts. Aaron assigns them a house.

Robbie almost asks whether it’s just as big as Daryl’s is but manages to swallow the question down. When all the work is winding down, he slips away between the houses to get some peace and quiet. His shirt is still soaked from the long walk. His feet still hurt.

When he scrunches up his nose, he can feel his sunburn.

He tries to get away from Sophie so she can’t assign him yet another chore, but then he stumbles upon the wall.

He stares at it.

Looks left, then right.

Figures out that it reads like a comic and quickly heads over to the gate, where the story starts. A little boy watching a city burn. A younger Rick Grimes holding another small boy, hugging him and a woman desperately. He starts to walk quicker when he figures out what’s going on. A farm. A prison. A church. Blood. Blood. Blood. Aaron and another guy. Alexandria. Jesus. Hilltop.

Oceanside.

Robbie’s hands tremble as he tries to make out the faces but they’re too blurry. It’s their town though.

And then the war.

A battle. A pyre.

And then peace. Rick Grimes. Maggie. The King. Dwight. Cyndie.

For a second, Robbie marvels at the fact that the war is so short. One battle. Just a glimpse.

He looks and looks and looks but he can’t find his mom anywhere in the snapshot.

‘Do you like it?’ a voice asks. It’s Rick Grimes. Beard grayer now, clothes scrubbed clean for the big day, though his boots are still dusty from the long road. ‘Daryl made it. He’s quite the artist.’

Robbie glances at wall one more time and runs away without saying anything.

 

 

The heroes at the high table.

Everyone in the building raises their glasses at them during a toast. Robbie isn’t allowed to drink wine, so his cup is filled with water sweetened with fruit juice from the Kingdom. The speeches are pretty boring but there’s so much to see that Robbie doesn’t mind much.

Legends of the war walk past his table to take their seats. The Grimes family of course; Rick and Michonne, Carl with Judith on his shoulders. There’s Maggie and Beth Greene. Merle Dixon has Hershel in his arms. The King accompanied by Jerry. Rosita and Tara. Aaron appears on stage seconds later. Jesus lingers at various tables but eventually slinks over to take his seat next to Merle.

Robbie turns his head when whispers start. He immediately wishes he hadn’t looked.

Daryl Dixon enters with Enid on his arm. He helps her up on stage and takes his own reserved seat next to Maggie while she sits next to Carl.

Robbie eats his food and listens to the speeches and tries not to notice when Jesus switches seats to sit next to Daryl for a while. Heads close together before laughter explodes between them. Tara budges in and grins soon after they share the joke.

‘I told you!’ Rachel hisses minutes later. She kicks Wassim under the table. ‘I told you that was him!’

‘Yeah, okay. Whatever!’

‘What’s going on?’ Robbie asks. He’s busy peeling an orange but looks up when Rachel almost stands up to be able to see someone.

‘The guy Daryl’s talking to – I think that’s – look!’ she almost squeals. ‘That’s the guy he ran into. It’s the guy from Washington. Suzie says it’s his – oh my God, she’s right! That’s Daryl’s boyfriend!’

‘It’s one of the twins! Robbie, we saw them earlier! They’re the ones with the cool armor!’

‘Yeah…’ Robbie watches how Daryl leads his boyfriend to the high table. There are introductions and obvious jabs at Daryl, but the teenager is laughing as he sits down next to his brother.

‘His boyfriend is so handsome.’

Robbie looks at Rachel.

‘What?’ she asks with a frown. ‘He is!’

‘Can you stop kissing his ass for two seconds, maybe?’

‘Can you stop giving him the stink eye just because you’re jealous?’

‘I’m not jealous!’

Rachel looks skeptical. ‘Right.’

‘I’m not! Why should I be jealous?’

She scoffs. ‘He’s Daryl Dixon. And you can’t even _fish_.’

Robbie gets up abruptly.

Rachel looks a bit guilty. ‘Rob, don’t go. I didn’t mean-‘

‘Shut up,’ Robbie mutters and leaves before she can see that there are tears in his eyes.

 

 

They call him the little king.

Everyone wants to talk to him. Everyone knows his name.

He doesn’t have to pay at any of the stalls.

Robbie hates him. _Hates_ him. _Hates him_.

 

 

‘-factory of theirs? That’s where they kept him.’ One of the soldiers from the Kingdom gestures to Sophie and moonshine sloshes over the rim of his cup in the process. ‘I’m telling you; locked him up like an animal.’

Sophie gets up and gestures to Robbie, who’d managed to escape both Cyndie and Sarah’s attention all night. It’s late. About an hour ago, Wassim, Hank and Rachel had been send to bed but nobody had noticed him sitting with the men from the Kingdom.

They probably figured he’d already gone to bed.

The stories the soldiers tell are captivating. About the war. About Alexandria. He doesn’t even mind that most of the stories involve Daryl Dixon in one way or another, because they tell stories about him puking after having to run all morning for mouthing Rosita off. They know Daryl’s not great with the Bo.

‘Robbie. Go to bed,’ Sophie says.

‘But I’m not tired yet!’

‘The kid’s not tired yet,’ the soldier says loudly, words a bit unclear now that the alcohol is kicking in. ‘Let him listen. It’s story time! Ey?’ he knocks their soldiers together and almost falls over.

Robbie laughs and nods eagerly.

Sophie hesitates but sits down again.

Robbie listens.

Stories about Daryl struggling to keep up while running his laps. About him having to do laundry and help in the kitchens. Working in the yard.

Robbie sniggers.

Stories about the King and the tiger. Daryl finding his strength and getting his horse.

More moonshine.

The fire dies down to smoldering embers.

Stories about the monster with the bat.

‘His dad got just… beat. They say there wasn’t much left of his head to bury. Kid went crazy but that… that beast took him with him. Tortured him. Tortured that kid until he went insane, and – and,’ the guy wipes his mouth and gestures vaguely at the group, ‘you know he can take a beating – have you – has anyone seen that guy’s chest? Man oh man, he survived something else before all this.’

Robbie frowns.

The man tries to clip him across the back of his head. ‘His old man beat him silly. Think they were all as nice as yours was? Jesus. That kid – eh, he could tell you some terrible tales, alright.’

‘But he escaped,’ someone says. ‘Daryl broke out of the sanctuary.’

‘Jesus busted him out,’ the man says with a nod. He tries to take another sip but finds his cup empty. ‘Oh.’ He throws it aside. ‘Lemme tell you this…’

The pyre. His friend burning. The war. So many dying.

Did everyone know how he lost a guy called Shane to a bunch of cannibals? Nobody is supposed to know, ssh ssh, how he killed them all in a church? Has anyone heard him scream at night? He has trouble sleeping.

Has trouble keeping the knife off his own skin.

Robbie gets up quickly with frightened eyes. He looks at Sophie. ‘Can I go to bed now? Please?’

‘Yeah, sure, of course. Do you want me to-‘

‘No.’ He leaves without saying goodbye. He starts running, rounds a corner and stops abruptly.

Daryl Dixon is standing there. He smokes a cigarette. ‘I hate drunk people,’ he says and smoke spills from his lips. ‘They’re so loud.’

Robbie swallows thickly. ‘Is that – what he’s saying? Is that all true?’

‘He ain’t lyin’.’

He thought he’d be happier about that. That Daryl’s not so perfect. That something bad has happened to him, too. So many things, in fact.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

He doesn’t know what to say.

‘Why are you out here?’

‘Trouble sleepin’.’

Robbie cringes.

‘Kidding,’ Daryl snorts, ‘I’m waiting until the guards pass. Gonna sneak into Taiwo’s room.’

And that’s how Robbie is standing on the street corner minutes later, shivering with excitement as he watches how Aaron and Merle Dixon come walking down the street. Merle ignores him completely but Aaron frowns.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘Yeah! Yeah, totally fine! Er- I’m waiting for Sophie. She’s going to walk me home but – er.. she had to pee first.’

Aaron frowns. ‘Are you sure? We can wait with you.’

‘No!’ His voice sounds shrill and he winces. ‘No – it’s fine. She’ll be right back.’

‘Okay. Well, if you’re sure. Good night, Robbie.’

He’s surprised Aaron knows his name. ‘Yeah. Good night – I mean.’

When they round the corner, Robbie tries to whistle. He’s not very good at it and thanks his lucky stars that Daryl’s got good hearing because the older teenager comes slinking from the shadows with a giddy grin on his face.

‘Good job. Here, stand like this,’ he directs Robbie towards the wall. ‘Fold your hands. Yeah like that. Okay, you sure?’

Robbie nods.

‘A’right. Here we go!’ Daryl takes a couple of steps back and does a run-up. Jumps up into Robbie’s folded hands and immediately runs a couple of steps up against the wall before grabbing the windowsill. He grunts as he pulls himself up.

The window is already open.

Daryl sits down in the opening, legs dangling down. ‘Thanks for your help, Rob.’

‘You’re welcome. I’ll go before they come back, okay?’

‘You do that,’ Daryl says with a grin. ‘Go straight home, okay? Tell Cyndie you were hanging out with me if she gives you trouble.’

‘She’s never going to believe that,’ Robbie says with a wrinkled nose. He regrets it immediately.

‘Yeah, ‘cause you hate me, huh? That’s the word around town at least. It’s the pest of bein’ a messenger – everyone thinks you want to hear all the gossip.’

‘I don’t _hate_ you,’ Robbie says but he doesn’t meet Daryl’s eye.

‘Hey.’

Now he does look up.

‘I’m sorry about your mom. Rachel ran her mouth of course, so… if you ever do wanna talk about what happened? I could tell you. Never offered before ‘cause… some people don’t want to know. ‘s up to you.’

‘Not yet.’ Robbie says. ‘But thanks.’ He rubs at his nose and looks down the street. ‘I better hurry, before they come back.’

‘Yeah. Thanks again, man,’ Daryl says before he disappears inside.

 

 

‘I thought you hated the dude?’

‘I don’t _hate_ him,’ Robbie says as he wobbles on the balls of his feet. ‘Just not that big a fan as everyone else is. Speaking of the devil.’

A motorcycle roars as it comes skidding around the corner. It slows down just in time, comes to a stop right next to Robbie. Daryl Dixon leans back in his seat and rolls his shoulders, ‘sorry,’ he grins as he tucks the bandana down, ‘long ride. Couple of walkers down by the crossing but nothing major. I’ll take them out on the way back.’

‘Cyndie told me to ask you to come and have dinner with us.’

Daryl shakes his head. ‘Sorry, Rick’s expecting me at the meeting in Alexandria. Got Ezekiel’s proposal right here, so… Tell her thanks though.’

‘Yeah sure,’ Robbie holds his hand out, ‘letters?’

‘Right here,’ Daryl digs through his backpack and hands him a bundle.

Robbie hesitates. ‘And mine?’

Daryl looks up with a concerned frown. ‘Are you sure? Maybe we can do this next time if I really am staying so if you got any questions then…’

‘You stop by once a month. I can ask you questions then.’

‘Your call, man,’ Daryl says and Robbie hates how much he likes that he’s the only one who doesn’t call him ‘kid’ all the time. Daryl gives him the letter.

‘Thanks. Here’s ours,’ he gives Daryl a smaller stack back. ‘Safe travels.’

‘Tell them I said hi,’ Daryl says. He puts the backpack back on, pulls the bandana over his nose and opens the gas. Squeezes one of the breaks. The bike spins around smoothly, another loud roar and he’s gone again.

Robbie gives the letters to his friend.

He keeps the one Daryl wrote him.

It takes him several weeks to be able to open it.

A couple of lines every day before he can read the whole thing.

To read how brave she’d been.

 

 

 


	5. The Kingdom

* * *

 

 

The first time Julia meets Daryl Dixon, he is standing on the tips of his toes to feed Khamsin a carrot through the bars of her box. The teenager doesn’t realize that he’s been caught yet. Eyes wide and smiling broadly, he waves the carrot in front of the horse’s face but keeps it still when she shows some interest in it.

‘You like that?’ he asks when Khamsin bites it in half and starts to munch on her bit. ‘You can have the rest, too. Don’t ya worry about that, missy. Why’re you in here, huh? You sick?’ Daryl asks as if he actually expects an answer. ‘You’re pretty though. Yeah! Here,’ he offers the other half of the carrot.

Khamsin takes it. Lips gently tickle the kid’s palm.

‘She usually bites.’

Daryl yanks his arm back, spooked by the sudden voice behind him. His elbow crashes painfully against the bars and he curses, cradling his arm for a moment. The noise frightened Khamsin, who backs up and neighs shrilly. ‘Sorry,’ Daryl says, standing on the tips of his toes again so he can see her properly. ‘Ssh, sssh, it’s okay. I’m sorry.’

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Julia says, ‘but you’re not supposed to be in here.’

The teenager curls in on himself and backs away slowly. Red ears stick out of his unruly hair. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand to hide himself some more. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters. ‘Were just walkin’ by ‘nd she were raisin’ hell. Thought I’d just check.’

‘Do you know how to ride?’

‘Hmm-hmm.’

‘Is that a yes?’

Daryl scowls but forces himself to glance up at her. ‘Yes ma’am. Sorry.’

She smiles. ‘That’s okay. You’re welcome to stop by when the guards are back with the other horses, but you should leave that one alone. She’s feisty.’

The boy brings up a hand to gnaw on his nails. He stops and opens his mouth like he wants to ask something but seems to change his mind. It happens several times before he finds his courage. ‘She wild then?’

‘Stubborn,’ Julia says with a laugh, ‘but not wild. She’s young still and doesn’t like to be inside much. She _definitely_ doesn’t like being left behind like this.’

‘Yeah, me neither,’ Daryl says. His eyes grow wide for a second as he realizes he’s said too much. Another frightened step towards the exit follows.

Julia moves a bucket around so she won’t look at the boy for a second, hoping it will settle him some. ‘Well, like I said; you can always come here to help out with the horses. I could use the help. It won’t always be riding them,’ she flashes him a smile, ‘shit needs to be shoveled too.’

The boy nods while he bites on his fingers again, clearly a nervous habit. ‘I can do that.’

‘I’m sure you can. Do you know how long you’re staying here?’

‘No.’

Julia nods.

‘No ma’am,’ he says quickly.

She laughs and wants to reach out and tussle his hair but fears it might spook him. He reminds her of the more skittish horses, the young ones that aren’t quite sure how the world around them works, or what kind of treatment they can expect from strangers.

There hadn’t been a formal announcement that Daryl would be staying with them, which makes Julia think that it hadn’t been planned by either the King or their own leader. She knows that a room has been offered to him on one of the blocks, but nobody seems to be particularly pleased with the arrangement. The boy is scared of his neighbors, and his neighbors don’t trust the teenager.

It helps that Morgan seems to know the kid, but it’s not enough to soothe the nerves people feel when they spot the wicked knife on the boy’s hip, or the gun in his holster. The air of mystery clings to his every step. He doesn’t talk often, likes to make himself smaller than he is, slinks from shadow to shadow while learning the lay-out of their settlement.

People spot him out in the fields where he weaves through the trees and observes the community from afar, they see him in streets as he follows Morgan around. Some claim they saw him climb out of his window to get to the roof but Julia isn’t sure whether she believes that. The boy’s room is on the second floor. Surely he wouldn’t risk slipping and falling to his death just to get some air.

‘What’s her name?’

Julia blinks out of her thoughts. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Never mind.’ Daryl kicks one foot against the other. ‘I’ll get goin’ so I won’t be in the way when the others get back.’

‘Oh –,’ she wants to say that he probably wouldn’t get in the way, it’s a pretty big barn and he seems to be familiar enough with the workings of one to move when needed to, but he’s gone before she can even properly start her sentence.

 

 

Three days later, things start to change. The novelty of having a visitor among them starts to wear off. People no longer watch the kid’s every move, nor do they try to get him to spill secrets about his own community. They’ve accepted him as just any another member who works to replenish the well and it causes Daryl to flourish.

He doesn’t slink around anymore. Instead, he walks with a spring in his step, smiles at the people he passes and wears his baseball cap backwards again so it isn’t hiding his face anymore. He works and he learns. The baker teaches him a new recipe if he’ll knead the dough, the people at the laundromat appreciate his help with lugging the water from well to workplace, the guards slowly get used to the teenager training with them.

‘He’s from Alexandria,’ Jayla says as she leans against her favorite horse while adjusting the straps. ‘He’s nice. Kind of shy.’

‘Kind of shy around _you_ ,’ Julia teases because she has heard the rumors about why Daryl likes to work in the laundromat. It’s where Jayla spends most of her mornings, working.

The girl rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t you start, too.’

‘Don’t act like you don’t like him, too,’ Julia laughs. ‘According to the rumors, even Shiva is smitten with him.’

Jayla shrugs. ‘Like I said; he’s nice, but I don’t like him like that. I don’t even really know him.’

‘You know more about him than most of us.’

‘It doesn’t feel real,’ Jayla says suddenly as she turns around on her heel, still holding onto her horse as her crutches are out of her reach. ‘Nothing he says… he’s not saying anything real. He talks about things here but acts like he just… _materialized_ here. Even when you ask – he won’t answer any questions about his family or where he’s from.’

Julia shrugs. ‘Of course he’ll dodge those questions, that doesn’t make him ... not real?’

‘I know. I don’t know what it is... it doesn’t feel right.’

‘But he’s still nice? You’re not making any sense.’

Jayla scrunches up her nose. ‘ _He_ doesn’t make sense.’

‘The King trusts him. Shiva trusts him. You won’t believe it, but even Khamsin trusts him.’

‘ _Khamsin_?’ Jayla glances at the empty box at the end of the barn. ‘No way. She doesn’t trust anyone.’

Julia laughs, ‘she’s not _that_ bad. But yeah – he was feeding her a carrot the other day. It was cute.’

‘Everyone is smitten with him, apparently,’ Jayla shoots her a pointed look before clacking her tongue. She has to hold onto the saddle tightly to lift herself up enough to put one foot into the stirrup. The horse snorts but stays in place, not minding the extra pressure at all. It’s an older horse, a gentle soul with an even enough gait for Jayla to stay on even when he speeds up.

‘Everyone but you, apparently.’

‘Are you just going to keep bugging me, or are you actually going to give me a lesson today?’

‘You hardly need one, but let’s go.’ Julia grabs the reins to lead the horse out of the stable. Once they’re in the paddock, Jayla takes the reins back to let her horse walk around and get in a rhythm together. Julia sits down on the fence.

She doesn’t have to give any corrections once the girl gets going. She knows how the ride but lacks confidence. Round and round she goes and Julia’s gaze starts to drift over to the soldiers training in the field. Lance, one of the higher ranked soldiers, is walking slow circles around the group of men and women who’ve paired up to spar. Some land face-first in the dirt while others smirk, but most are evenly matched, clashing but never managing to take their opponent down.

A sharp whistle and the duo’s stop. They gather near the fence, where they can sit in the shade. A short instruction from Lance and presumably a request for two volunteers because one of their best walks towards the instructor. It’s Rudy. Big and strong, disciplined too. He’s fearless and never far from the King’s side when they head out. He prefers to wield a weapon that reminds Julia of a baton, though he’s good with a gun, too. With his hands on his hips, he waits for someone to do the demonstration with him.

Laughter rings out when the soldiers see who steps forward.

It’s Daryl. Small compared to the men and women around him, shy in the way he wobbles on the balls of his feet, how he’s chewing on his cuticles and bows his head so he doesn’t have to meet anyone’s eye. He looks tiny next to Rudy.

Julia frowns when Lance continues his explanations and then gestures for the two volunteers to take their places. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a fair fight. The rest of the soldiers seem to feel the same way, though only two try to get Lance’s attention to have him switch out the second volunteer. The rest of them whoop and holler excitedly.

‘The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.’

Julia looks over at Ezekiel, who has joined her at the fence. He’s looking at the group of soldiers, too. ‘Brave,’ she allows, ‘or stupid and reckless.’

‘He is that sometimes,’ Ezekiel says with a small smile, ‘though I’ve found him to be brave far more often. What is your opinion of him?’

‘I don’t know him well, sir.’

‘But you know him.’

‘He is kind to the horses. The stable hands like him.’ Julia shrugs, ‘that’s all I know.’

‘I’m glad.’

Julia frowns, ‘I’m sorry?’

Ezekiel drums his fingers on the fence. ‘No matter. It wasn’t important.’ His gaze lingers on the soldier before he pushes himself away to continue on his stroll through the fields.

Julia’s gaze follows him for a while. When she looks back at the soldiers, Daryl’s is lying in the dirt and Rudy steps away with hands help up apologetically. The teenager breathes the dry earth in before getting up again.

The soldiers laugh when he steps back into the ring.

 

 

The first time Julia meets Merle Dixon, he’s sitting on the porch of Rick Grimes’ temporary accommodation. He doesn’t look anything like Daryl. Tall and broad, an imposing figure even when sitting down. Army boots scuff the earth as he lets his legs swing freely, muscles bulge as he grips the deck. The knuckles are eerily white from the pressure. A rugged face and hair shorn.

‘Are you the one who almost killed that horse?’

Merle doesn’t look up. ‘Almost seems to be the keyword of the entire day. Who the hell are you?’

‘You didn’t think to stop and take a break?’ Julia demands as she walks up to him. ‘You made him ride from Hilltop to the Kingdom and you didn’t even _stop_?’

‘No.’

‘He could have died! He’s _exhausted_ , _dehydrated_ , what were you thinking?’

‘I were thinking I needed to get here fast.’

Julia puts her hands on her hips, ‘well, you got here fast. So now what?’

Merle finally sighs and looks up. He has a split lip and a bruise that covers his left cheekbone. One of the tiny veins in his eyes has popped, leaving the whites of his eyes a vicious red color. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’ He sounds so tired and defeated that it causes Julia’s rages to ebb away. ‘You got any bright ideas or something?’

‘I don’t even know why you had to get here fast. What was so important? I thought Hilltop had a motorcycle for that sort of thing.’

‘’s monster’s. It would have woken everyone and their mother up, nah, couldn’t take that, or one of the cars. Had to give one of the guards my gun in order for him to keep his fucking mouth shut and not run to Maggie or Paul to say I’d upped and left.’

‘Why wouldn’t you want them to know?’

‘What the fuck do you care?’

Julia lifts an eyebrow, ‘you endangered one of my horses. I could have you put on trial for that.’

Merle scoffs. ‘Have never abided by any law before, ain’t gonna start now that there are none left, missy, but you got balls. I like that.’ He sighs and rummages around in the pocket of his jacket to pull out a crumpled package of cigarettes. ‘I didn’t want them to know because then they couldn’t warn the guards here I were coming. ‘t was a good plan. Would have worked if it weren’t for some shit luck once I got here.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Rick Grimes was on fucking guard duty.’

Julia looks at the heavy door that hides the long, dark corridor that leads down to the cage. Everyone had been warned to stay away. The guards standing in the corridor are heavily armed, not even the kitchen aids are allowed to bring the prisoner his own food. Only the guards trusted most by their king get to hold the key for short periods of time, rotating in and out every couple of hours.

‘You tried to get to Negan,’ Julia says. ‘Why?’

A bitter laugh escapes the oldest Dixon. He inhales sharply, through clenched teeth and then he lets it go. ‘Come on now,’ he says. ‘You ain’t fucking stupid.’

She’s heard the stories.

‘Daryl,’ she says as she sits down next to his brother on the porch. Her feet barely touch the ground. ‘I’ve heard what they’ve done to him back there. Terrible.’

‘Then you haven’t heard shit yet,’ Merle mumbles. He kicks his feet and won’t look up anymore. ‘The stuff everyone knows? It ain’t even _half_ of what happened to that kid. You ain’t heard nothing. You haven’t _seen_ what…’ he swallows his words harshly.

‘He got out,’ Julia says carefully. ‘He survived. Why are you here now? It’s over and-‘

‘ _Ain’t over_ ,’ Merle growls. ‘Ain’t over until that asshole is in the _fucking ground_.’

It’s eerie that she can spot the resemblance now. The hardened tone of voice, the cutting glance thrown her way by icy blue eyes, the way his whole body seems to tense like Shiva’s used to do before she’d pounce on her pray. She remembers seeing Daryl right before the final battle. The softness of the teenage years behind him, muscles more defined and tenderness only lingering in the way he handled his horse. She’d been surprised at how much he’d changed in just a year. Surprised, and frightened by the damage war can do to those who survive.

‘What would that change?’ Julia asks with a frown.

‘Nothing,’ Merle admits after a short silence. ‘It’d make me feel better though.’

‘Why?’

‘’cause it’s what big brothers are supposed to do; make things right. I used to beat kids up who’d make fun of his ratty clothes. Put a guy into hospital for wanting something from him he couldn’t get. That weren’t nothing special. Nothing important. I ran before I made it right by killing our old man.’

Julia’s eyes widen but she doesn’t say anything.

Merle chews on the inside of his cheek. ‘Won’t make the same mistake again.’

The conviction in his words cause Julia to shiver. She’s glad to see the door open and that it’s Michonne who walks out. The trade-mark katana on her back, though her hand doesn’t reach for it when she crosses the lawn to get to the house. She looks stern but there’s warmth in the way she reaches for Merle’s hand.

Merle takes her right with his left. After a second, he presses the back of her hand against his forehead.

Michonne sighs and lets her hand round to the back of his head, gently guiding his forehead to comes to rest against the softness of her belly. Fingertips trace soothing patterns on his skull.

Julia nods at the woman and slips away.

 

 

‘So he’s okay then?’

Julia startles and almost drops the bucket with feed. The last guy to help her today had already left, leaving her alone in the stables. When she whirls around, she sees that Merle Dixon is leaning against the doorframe with a grin on his weathered face.

It’s been a couple of days since he arrived. She hasn’t seen much of him. Most of Rick Grimes’ family has been hiding away in that big house across the yard from the prisoner. The only one she’s seen wandering through the streets is Michonne, often with Judith on her hip or holding onto her hand as they inspect flowers and try to talk to the local people.

‘Oh, hey,’ Julia says as she puts the bucket down and looks at the horse Merle brought in. ‘Yeah, he’s fine. You got lucky though, they get lame quick if you push them like that. I almost don’t want to give him back, if you treat him like that.’

‘One-time thing,’ Merle promises. ‘An emergency.’

‘Sure,’ Julia mutters but she sounds doubtful.

‘Are you the one who gave my brother his horse?’

‘Technically, Ezekiel gave Daryl his horse, but I thought they’d be a good match.’

‘They are,’ Merle agrees. ‘It’s sickening how much he loves ‘nd dotes on her.’

Julia smiles and leans against one of the doors. ‘A lady likes that kind of thing.’

An amused sound escapes the older Dixon. The corner of his mouth quirks up as his body language softens. ‘That right, hmm?’ He pushes himself away from the doorpost and walks over with slow, measured steps. When he gets close enough, he reaches out to plant his hands beside Julia’s waist, on the door, crowding her.

‘Yeah,’ Julia says, eyes already on his lips, ‘that’s right.’

There’s no hesitation. There are no nerves making it clumsy, no tingling feelings in their stomachs which makes everything more awkward, no need to get it absolutely right the first time around. A hard, firm kiss coming from two people who know what they want out of it and are used to these kinds of arrangements.

Julia’s glad he doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t run his hands through her hair, doesn’t whisper how gorgeous she is or how badly he’s been wanting her. When he does lean back, he just licks his lips out of habit and cocks an eyebrow.

‘Got a place?’

She does.

He follows her but doesn’t hold her hand or try to feel her up on the way there. They walk side-by-side, his hands in his pockets as he looks around curiously. He’s probably never been on this side of the Kingdom before. They go up the staircase. He leans against the wall while she unlocks the door.

No embarrassed excuses about the state of her place, or lies about how she’d meant to tidy earlier. He doesn’t comment on the underwear hanging out to dry, or the dirty dishes stacking up in the sink. In the hallway, he kicks off his boots while she throws her jacket onto the couch. Once her shoes are off too, she walks to the bedroom.

He walks in seconds later, bare-chested and unbothered by the clothes piled on her small bed. With a grunt, he just moves them to the nearby desk before unbuckling his belt. There’s no undressing each other, or at least trying to be sexy while getting naked. It’s quick and efficient.

The rest of the night isn’t.

Much later, Merle reaches blindly for his jeans to grab his cigarettes. A sheet covers his modesty more by accident than intent, and he smiles when Julia sits on the bed in all her naked glory, holding out her hand to take a drag from his cigarette. She could light her own but they both like the shallow intimacy of sharing.

‘You do this often?’

Julia’s eyes narrow but there’s no accusation lurking behind the man’s words. ‘When I feel like it,’ she says.

‘I hope you come find me when you do,’ Merle says with a big grin.

Julia smiles. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘You do that.’ He stays the night and is there the next morning. Unapologetic as he climbs out of the bed and stretches, scratching at his ear while he searches for his clothes. Shirt unbuttoned as he goes to take a piss. He mumbles something about Rick wanting to see him later and how they can share another cigarette before he really has to go, talking to her all the while in the bathroom.

Julia watches him go with mild bemusement. Normally, the guys leave before she wakes up and they pretend it never happened. She doesn’t know what she likes best.

 

 

Merle almost seems like a different man whenever Daryl is around. He’s still crude and rash, he likes his own jokes way too much and thinks it’s funny to make inappropriate comments, but he’s gentler, too. Softens around the edges to give his little brother a soft place to lay his head to rest for a couple of moments.

The younger Dixon is nothing but a shadow of himself. Skinny and angry, so scared that he’d rather lash out first than ever know who his real enemy is. He’s nervous around people again, seemingly only calming down when he sits next to his big brother during dinner.

Julia sees them together so often that it surprised her when she runs into Merle at the back of one of the buildings. He’s sitting on a couple of crates, head tilted back so it rests against the bricks, one leg stretched out. An unlit cigarette dangles from his limp fingers.

‘Are you okay?’

Merle opens one eye to look at her. ‘Hey gorgeous.’ He’s quick with the nicknames, though she doesn’t mind since he’s giving them out left and right. It doesn’t mean anything. ‘How are you?’

‘Well, I’m not looking like a dying sack of shit in a back-alley way.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Just answer the question if you don’t me to do it for you.’

‘I’m feeling like a dying sack of shit in a back-alley way,’ Merle says with a sigh. ‘This fucking sucks.’

‘I thought you’d be happy to see Daryl again. He came to see you, right?’

Merle snorts. ‘ _Right_.’ He points at her with his cigarette, ‘it’s people like you who make him think he’s a great liar. Good lord, he didn’t come here to see me. He came here to fucking kill Negan. Hmm hmm _hmm_. He’s on his own little assassin adventure.’

Julia plucks the cigarette from his fingers and gestures for the lighter. ‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’

‘You’re doing a lot of thinkin’ and I ain’t sure it’s your thing, sugar tits.’ Mere smirks when she flips him off before lighting the cigarette for her. ‘I wanted him dead, sure. Don’t mean I want his blood on my baby-brother’s hands though.’

‘ _Wanted_ him dead?’

‘It’s like you said; won’t change nothing.’

‘So you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.’

Merle gives her a sour look but it’s dismissed by his own smile. ‘Maybe I just found something else to make me feel better while that asshole is rottin’ away in that cell, hmm?’ his gaze slowly travels from her boots to her eyes. ‘Rick wants to check out Alexandria, see what needs to be done there. Come up with a plan ‘nd such, so I’ll be gone a little while.’

Julia frowns and passes the cigarette to him. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed with Daryl?’

His gaze hardens. ‘I know what’s best for my blood.’

She shrugs. ‘Fine. Good luck in Alexandria.’

‘Now that’s one cold goodbye you got for old Merle, girl.’

‘You don’t seem the sentimental type.’

That makes Merle laugh. ‘Nah,’ he says while passing the cigarette back, ‘what’s the fucking point? Nothing lasts, ain’t no point pussy-footing around anything. And there ain’t nothing wrong with two adults just wanting a little something something neither.’

‘That’s what this is? A _little something something_.’

Merle quirks an eyebrow, ‘I was bein’ modest, we both know it ain’t remotely little.’

Julia rolls her eyes but still laughs. ‘When do you leave?’

‘In the morning.’

‘That right, hmm?’

Merle smirks and gets up. His hand lands on her hip, thumb dipping below her belt to follow the curve of her hipbone. ‘Dare’s sleepin’ in my room with me tonight– just to be sure, so I can’t come over. Sorry.’

Julia doesn’t know what he needs to be sure of, but she nods anyway. ‘Yeah – okay.’ She takes Merle’s hand and puts it on her belt buckle, ‘you busy right now?’

 

 

Some would think it’s strange that they’re nothing to each other and still share a bed from time to time, but Julia likes it that way. She knows more about Merle from rumors and stories the soldiers tell around the campfire than the man himself. While he’s a talker, he doesn’t like to talk about himself all that much. There are thick, ropey scars on his belly and back that match Daryl’s, so she doesn’t have to guess where they’ve come from and he doesn’t seem to feel the need to tell her either. He pretends they’re not even there, so she does the same.

They don’t talk about the nights that Merle can’t sleep. When he tries to relax afterwards, one arm covering his eyes and the other curled around her waist, until he just gives up and gets out of bed. Sometimes he smokes and tries again, but more often than not he gets dressed and leaves to get an absurdly early start on the day.

He sometimes asks questions she doesn’t take seriously. Jabs at her background, him assuming she came from money by the way she sets the table when they eat together in her room, joking how she probably used to be daddy’s little girl or that she probably never had any younger brothers. She’ll laugh but never answer.

They’ll sit at one of the dinner tables out in the field together but everyone is careful not to refer to them as anything but vague acquaintances even though they’ve seen Merle leave her room early in the morning too often for any such title.

She likes it when Daryl stops by at their table. Cheeks rosy from training and being outside all day, shy around strangers and leaning against his big brother. He looks better these days; not as thin or fearful, stronger in both body and mind, happier as he chases Carl around and stumbles over his words whenever Jayla flashes him a smile.

The brothers like each other’s company. Merle always manages to convince Daryl to join a card game after dinner. He will glare when Rick Grimes’s whistle cuts through the air, a signal to both of his boys that it’s time to head back home and then straight to bed.

It’s a sign that things are getting better when Michonne thanks Ezekiel for his hospitality one day and declares that their group will move back to Alexandria.

It surprises Julia that Merle turns up earlier than usual that night.

He leans against the doorpost, hands in his pockets, shoulders curled in, which makes him look even more like his shyer younger brother. ‘So, have you heard the news?’

‘Yeah, that’s great,’ Julia says while folding one of the shirts and putting it away. ‘I didn’t know you’d already rebuilt that much.’

‘Kinda. Rick’s just wanting to get out of Ezekiel’s hair, I guess.’

‘Right.’ She sits down on the couch. ‘You don’t sound very happy about it all.’

‘Ahw, I don’t know,’ Merle mumbles. He kicks one boot against the other. ‘I mean – I don’t gotta go, right? If you… like, hell,’ he rubs the back of his neck, ‘If you wanted me to stay, I could see if…’

Julia laughs.

Merle frowns.

‘If _I_ want you to stay? Why would I want that?’

There’s a silence that lasts too long.

Julia’s eyes widen in realization.

Merle’s gaze darkens as he straightens up, ‘yeah, I don’t know,’ he says before walking out and disappearing.

 

 

Merle leaves the next morning.

Days go by and Julia doesn’t think she misses him much. She sleeps soundly and likes having the small apartment to herself again. There are no cigarette buds on her doorstep anymore. People stop eyeing her like she should feel embarrassed or ashamed by something.

The only thing she hates is the lingering thought he has left behind in her mind. A nagging little voice that grates on her nerves, one that says that she might have had a shot at something else entirely, if she hadn’t dismissed it so soon.

From the moment she’d seen Merle Dixon, she’d thought they were the exact same. Both just looking for something easy and quick, nothing too complicated and if they were both honest; nothing too time-consuming either. It was nice while it lasted, comforting in its familiarity.

Some evenings she thinks about writing him a letter but she never does.

Daryl comes to visit, first to track down the stranger crossing their borders and much later, love-struck and jittery with nerves as he gets ready to head to Washington D.C. to see his boyfriend. Everyone laughs when he fumbles with his messenger bag, ears bright red while the soldiers tease him. He’ll stop by the stables sometimes and Julia’s heart will leap for a mere second, before the teenager excitedly starts to tell her about how Khamsin is doing.

No word from his brother though.

 

And then Khamsin dies and another war starts.

She doesn’t have time to worry about Merle, has no reason to worry about him, really – until she realizes that news is being relayed far too late. She would have worried if she’d known Daryl had been taken, would have known that Merle would go after him, maybe would have radioed him at long last.

In the end, she finds out he’d died because his name appears on the remembrance wall.

She spots it soon enough, the wet paint glints in the morning light, attracting her attention.

She doesn’t cry.

She just stands there and watches how the paint dries.

 

 


	6. Hilltop Colony

 

* * *

 

 

There’s nobody who remembers when Jesus arrived at Hilltop colony. It’s like he’s always been there, welcoming people to the community, helping them settle into the big house or one of the trailers and making sure they feel like they are a part of the new civilization. No matter how much he protested or shied away from any sort of title, he’s always been the right-hand man of who-ever was in charge.

Ilia liked him from the very start. Soft-spoken and patient, observant and with a quiet demeanor. It isn’t strange that people are drawn to him, especially not when Gregory was in charge. Gregory never truly listened, wasn’t particularly interested to know anyone’s history, he didn’t even bother to remember everyone’s name. So most of them sought Jesus out in times of need. For advice or just a listening ear. He’s good at making people feel heard, even though there’s nothing he could do to ease their pain at the start, or take away their concerns when things got tough. But he was there, and that was enough.

Everyone knows Jesus, but hardly anyone knows anything about the man himself. He listens well, but rarely talks about his own past or sorrows. Ilia first tried to get him to open up some. She’d invite him over for dinner but he never showed up, and he wouldn’t let anything slip when they’d go out scavenging together.

Against Gregory’s orders, Jesus liked to work alone, even outside of Hilltop’s walls. Though Ilia could take care of herself, she always felt like he hadn’t truly wanted her there with him. They’d usually split up, roaming around a neighborhood and meeting up at lunchtime to discuss their findings before going their own way again and meeting up at the car hours later.

She’s probably one of the few people who got to spend so much time with the scout, and yet she still felt like he was a complete stranger to her. It would have unsettled her, if he hadn’t been so kind. Polite but distant. She didn’t want to pry. There are a lot of people who refuse to talk about their lives before the outbreak and she’d just assumed that something terrible had happened to him. She avoided talking about friends or family, didn’t dare to ask whether he used to have a partner, too afraid of scaring him off.

He has a habit of running, she’d noticed. While he is diplomatic while handling small disputes in the community, everyone knew that he clashed with Gregory on a regular basis. Since there was no true discussion possible with the man, they’d usually see Jesus storm off and disappear shortly after.

He’d come back days later, bearing all kinds of treasures he’d found beyond the walls which might have been the only reason why nobody ever told him to stay inside. He’s far too valuable for them to be kept in the confinements of the colony, and since he’s their best fighter, hardly anyone worried while he was gone.

It didn’t surprise Ilia when Jesus turned up on their doorsteps with a new group of people. He’d always been the one urging Gregory to reach out to other communities, that they couldn’t be alone out there, and that they were going to need other groups in the long run.

Those other groups had found them first of course. The Saviors arrived and claimed them, the death of the teenager caused Jesus to become even quieter and still more distant. Findings the Kingdom had re-sparked some hope about the future inside of him, though it wasn’t until he brought Rick Grimes to Hilltop, that Ilia saw a whole different side of him.

Still the diplomat of course, quietly discussing issues with Maggie Rhee, standing on the balcony with their heads bowed together to come up with a strategy, and welcoming by showing Rick Grimes the lay of the land shortly after arriving.

Ilia remembers sitting on one of the small steps leading up to her trailer and watching them. Rick Grimes and Jesus, closely followed by a teenage boy with angel wings on his back. A tough exterior with his army boots, leather jacket and the various weapons strapped to his hip, thigh and back, but with bright red ears peeking out of his dark hair as he tried to soak up every word the scout was saying.

‘Look, Dare,’ Rick grimes said while turning around and flashing the teenager a grin, ‘that’s the cow.’

‘Shuddup!’

‘Oh, we’ve got loads of livestock,’ Jesus had said, also looking back at the younger boy. ‘Chickens, some pigs and the cows of course. We have horses as well.’

The boy had ducked his head, ‘cool.’

It was the first time Ilia had seen the boy, and she almost couldn’t believe he was the one everyone was talking about. That he’d been the one who’d broken the guard’s arm by twisting it so hard it snapped. She’d almost laughed when he walked by. He’d reminded her so much of the teenage students roaming the halls before the outbreak; all nervous energy and practically sporting heart-eyes while trailing after their latest crush.

The new group hadn’t stayed long, but apparently long enough for the boy’s hopes and dreams to be crushed. The very next day, he avoided Jesus like the plague, blushing up a storm whenever one of his family members made a playful remark but putting in work to earn himself a couple of cigarettes.

Despite his first introduction to the community, everyone seemed to universally agree that he was a good kid. Loyal to a fault, occasionally seeking out the comfort of Glenn and Maggie Rhee before bouncing off again, no doubt getting into all sorts of trouble with all kinds of people. He was easy to read and endlessly curious. His laughter came quick when evoked by Glenn, and he barely squirmed when Michonne licked her thumb to rub some dirt off his cheek, already so used to the treatment.

Just a kid, Ilia had thought while watching him horse around with Abraham near the cars.

 

 

Therefore, it was hard to believe Jesus when he came back from another outing with the news that the Saviors had been taken care of with the boy’s help. Gregory didn’t dig any further than that, instead asserting his leadership by loudly telling Jesus he’d forbidden him to leave the premises and that he’d have to make up for these trespasses of his law, but nobody paid him any mind.

Ilia watched how Jesus slunk away from the gathered crowd and found him near his trailer, sitting against one of the walls as he cleaned a knife. She sat down next to him but didn’t say anything.

‘They let him come.’

It had only taken him a couple of minutes to find his voice, but it still startled Ilia. She looked at him. ‘What?’

‘Daryl. He was there.’

‘At the outpost?’

He nodded. ‘He and his brother took out the guards outside and then we went in. I thought he’d stay with the cars, but… it was a good thing he was there. Well – not _good_ , but… we would have had a tougher fight on our hands without him.’

‘Then it was good he was there.’

Jesus looked pained. ‘He’s just a kid.’

‘How old is he? It’s hard to tell.’

‘He’s sixteen.’

‘He’s younger than he looks then. I guess things will be different now they’re growing up in this kind of world.’ Ilia smiled, ‘or maybe he just came with because he knew you’d be there. Can you imagine? We had it easy – back in the day? A guy could give the camera a smoldering look, sing moderately well? His poster went up on my wall, for sure! That poor kid has to go on a killing spree to see his crush.’

Jesus’s eyes were wide. He didn’t move, his left hand, wrapped in a cloth, stilled on his blade.

Ilia glanced at him. Knocked their shoulders together, ‘ahw, come on. Some guy lusting after you has you all riled up? Live and let live, man.’

‘No, it’s not – no. I just didn’t think it was that obvious,’ he went back to cleaning his knife. ‘He’s a just a teenager – he doesn’t understand what… and besides; he didn’t do it to see me. Apparently, it’s not the first time he’s had to do that.’

‘But it was yours, right?’ Ilia asked carefully. ‘Are you okay?’

She’d watched how the shutters came down. How he put the knife away, how the worry and pained expression melted into that pleasant but fake smile as he got up.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Ilia.’

She’d doubted it, but let him walk away.

 

 

Sometimes, in this new world, you grow numb to people grieving. Ilia can’t recall how many times she’s seen people fall to the ground in choked silence or with wails of agony, how many times she has walked past someone sitting on their porch with empty eyes, lost in better times. People who cling onto anyone, wanting to tell their story again and again, or people who refuse to ever acknowledge the hurt. And while she feels sorry for all of them, she can’t let herself linger there for too long or her own nightmares will come back to haunt her, so she’s ashamed to admit that she has turned a blind eye several times.

There’s no ignoring this though.

Ilia catches a glimpse of Maggie Rhee’s pale and drawn face as Alex carries her towards the medical trailer. The dark hair has been cut short. It’s plastered to her forehead due so sweat. Head lolled back, arm awkwardly hanging down, unbothered by the fact that Alex is moving quickly and therefor jostling her quite a bit.

One of her friends is running after the nurse. The dark skin clammy, eyes red-rimmed and mouth just a thin, determined line as she makes her way to the trailer as well. A gloved hand yanks the door open to let Alex inside. They disappear into the facility and leave a strange sort of silence in their wake.

Ilia frowns and looks towards the gates that are finally closing. She’d expected to find Jesus by Maggie’s side. Their stay last time had been short, but the two of them had seemed to become fast friends, and even if they weren’t; Jesus can always be found by the side of any new-comer to comfort and welcome them.

Instead, she spots him near the gate, surrounded by a hesitating group of men from Hilltop colony, and pinned to the wall by a large, unfamiliar man. Jesus has always been smaller, but now he looks positively tiny, with the tips of his boots scraping over the ground to try and hold himself up, one hand curled around a thick wrist and the other feebly pushing at a broad shoulder to get away.

That makes no sense. Jesus might easily be a foot smaller, but he’s never been helpless. Even with her limited experience, Ilia knows several ways how to get out of that particular situation, which means that Jesus knows a hundred more and he’s allowing this to happen to him. The people around them have clearly come to the same conclusion. When a younger soldier joins them and moves in to help the scout, Jesus holds up one finger to direct him back again.

Ilia moves closer, too.

‘The gates won’t open until sunrise,’ Jesus tells the man calmly. ‘It’s too dangerous to go out there now.’

‘You think I give a fuck about that?’ the man growls. ‘You open those gates, or I swear to God.’

‘Maggie needs you.’

‘ _Maggie_? _He’s_ out there! They _took_ him.’ The man’s voice quivers, shakes with anger and grief. ‘They came – butchered Abe ‘nd Glenn, and they took him. He’s… he’s just a kid.’

‘I know,’ Jesus says, voice soothing and low. ‘I’m so sorry. We’ll find him, but we need to regroup – we need a plan first. There’s nothing we can do now. We don’t know where their base is, we’d be blundering around in the dark trying to find them. You’d only get yourself killed like that.’

The man snarls, pushes Jesus harder into the wall.

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Jesus pleads. ‘He needs you. He’ll need Maggie when he gets back. What’s wrong with her?’

The grip on Jesus slackens as the man glances over his shoulder towards the medical bay. ‘I don’t know. Rick said she were sick, we tried to get her here, Alexandria ain’t got no doctor no more but… the baby. Something’s wrong with the baby or… I don’t know.’

‘She needs you,’ Jesus urges. ‘You and Sasha both.’

The man works his jaw. ‘Rick said you took the deal because they killed a kid.’

Jesus’ eye close momentarily. ‘They took him for a reason. If they wanted to kill him, they would have done it right there and then. They need him for something. They need him alive.’

The man nods jerkily and then let’s go of Jesus. Without another word, he heads over to the medical trailer. Everyone in his way quickly moves aside, eyes down to avoid the sharp, blue eyes of the stranger. He’s bigger than most, muscles bulging and tall, his stride confident and his hand automatically falling to an empty holster on his belt. There’s something vaguely familiar about his features, but Ilia doesn’t dare to look too closely.

She looks at Jesus instead, who’s rubbing at the spot where the stranger had held him before he pushes himself away from the wall with a slight grimace of pain. A small gesture that says ‘nothing to see here’ sends the others scurrying away into the darkness of the colony. He starts to head over towards Barrington house, head down and only glancing up when he passes Ilia.

‘Not now,’ he says.

Ilia nods and lets him pass without a word. Instead of following her friend, she moves to the barn where a couple of stable hands have just finished calming the horses again. There are whispers about who the strangers are and what has happened in the dark of night.

‘He said they had killed two of them?’ someone whispers, voice shrill.

‘Who’s _they_?’

‘Weren’t they the ones who’d killed Negan?’

Ilia opens her mouth but is cut off by another voice.

‘Finish your chores and go back to bed.’ Kal folds his arms in front of his chest and scowls at them. ‘Aren’t some of you supposed to be on guard duty tonight? I see anyone sleeping on the job, and you’re clearing out the septic tank for months.’

A couple of younger guards blush and scatter, the older ones just nod and head back towards their homes.

‘Ilia.’

She freezes where she’d tried to slip away with the rest of the group. With a wince, she turns to Kal. ‘Yes?’

‘Grab some gallons of water and take them to the medical trailer. Put them on the porch so Alex can grab them when he needs them. Then get some sleep yourself.’ He nods at her and then runs up the wooden staircase to join his soldiers on top of the wall. With his dark hoodie covering his hair and neck, he almost disappears into the night.

With a sigh of relief, Ilia quickly makes her way to the stock room to grab as many gallons as she can carry. She has to stop a couple of times underway to catch her breath but manages to get them all to the porch. There’s no sound coming from inside the trailer, but she can hear something that attracts her attention all the same.

She quietly walks around the trailer, one hand on her knife because no-one is supposed to be back there, near the generator. In the beginning, someone had walked past on their way home, had stumbled over wires and dislodged some, creating a short power-outage which could have cost someone their life. It had been enough to declare the space a no-go area within Hilltop.

When she almost reaches the back of the trailer, she suddenly recognizes the sound and winces.

Sobs.

She peeks around the corner and sees the same stranger as before, now on his knees in the tall grass, hands covering his weathered face. He’s crying. Sobs that wreck his entire body, whimpers that reminds Ilia of kicked dogs. Dirty fingernails seem to claw at his own skin, picking at it to inflict pain to distract him from his loss.

She hesitates.

A hand lands on her shoulder and drags her back behind the trailer. Jesus, with a finger over his lips. He guides her back towards the main path and then Barrington house. He sits down on the steps with a heavy sigh.

‘Who is he?’ Ilia asks as she sits down next to him. ‘A friend of Maggie’s? He wasn’t here last time.’

Jesus picks at the laces of his boots. ‘No, he wasn’t. That’s Merle Dixon, Daryl’s older brother.’

‘Oh.’ She loops her arms around her knees to ward of the night’s chill. ‘I though he looked familiar somehow.’

The corner of Jesus’ mouth quirks up in a sad smile. ‘Yeah. Somehow.’ The smile fades. ‘Daryl was taken by Negan and his Saviors.’

‘I thought they’d killed Negan.’

Jesus nods. ‘We did too. I’m not sure what exactly happened, Merle wasn’t… he wasn’t making much sense, but Negan’s alive. That’s for sure.’ With shaking fingers, he rubs at his eyebrow before plucking at his lower lip. ‘I should have known that wasn’t Negan at that base. That it wasn’t over.’

‘You couldn’t have known that.’

‘I should have.’

Ilia sighs and doesn’t say anything. There’s no point. No matter what she says, it won’t banish the dark look from her friend’s eyes. Together, they watch how the door of the medical trailer opens and Sasha stumbles out into the dark. She sinks down on the small set of stairs, folds her hands over her mouth and screams silently.

Jesus shivers and bows his head to hide his own expression.

 

 

Though many people have arrived at Hilltop Colony while Ilia was there, she’s never seen anyone become such fast friends with Jesus before as Maggie Rhee. She’s seen her friend slip into the medical bay with blue flowers just to check on her until she woke up. And since she did; they’ve become a familiar sight;

Jesus walking beside Maggie with a small smile on his face, a gentle hand urging the woman to take small breaks at picnic tables along the way. He often stands guard when she visits the freshly dug graves, helps her back to her feet afterwards, asks questions that bring a glimmer of pride back into her eyes.

Ilia quite likes the new visitors, though the dynamics are difficult to understand, especially between Maggie and Merle. They snipe at each other during dinner, try to avoid being inside Jesus’ trailer at the same time and often need Sasha to run interference before everything blows up between them.

There’s distrust in the way they look at each other, even though they claim to be related. While it used to be common before the outbreak, she hasn’t seen many hostile family dynamics like that since. People tend to pull together in times of crisis after all.

There’s a glimmer of hope, however, in the way Merle Dixon runs to grab Maggie’s hand when the Saviors arrive at Hilltop Colony. They run into Barrington house together, hissing for Sasha to follow them up the stairs where Jesus is already waiting to take them to a safe hiding spot. Ilia watches how he herds them into Gregory’s room before making her way downstairs to help load the trucks.

Hours later, there’s sweat dripping from her brow as she leans against one of the trucks. A strange sound causes her to turn around to catch Jesus with one foot on the truck, hand pushing the plastic aside to get in, a sheepish look on his face.

‘Hi.’

Ilia frowns and glances over her shoulder at the Saviors. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispers, sounding outraged. ‘Get off!’

‘We need to know more about them.’

‘Not like this – how – how are you going to get back? This is suicide! They’ll take this one straight to Negan, you can’t-!’

‘Oh, they are? Great.’ Jesus hops into the truck and inspects a bottle of gin. He pulls the cork out with his teeth and takes a big swallow. ‘Dutch courage.’

Footsteps cause the hair on Ilia’s arms to rise. ‘Hide!’ she hisses before turning around and straightening. She awkwardly thumps on the side of the truck and grins at the driver. ‘All good. Safe travels.’

The man looks at her strangely and yanks the door open. ‘Yeah…’

When the trucks drive off, Ilia can see how Jesus pours the last of the gin onto the dry gravel road. She fears it’ll be the last time she sees him.

 

 

‘Ilia,’ Maggie says as they pass each other in front of Barrington house. A hand shoots out to touch her elbow.

It surprises Ilia that she knows her name, but it’s been two days and no word from Jesus, so she can’t be pleased or happy about anything anymore. ‘ _What_?’ she bites out and the harsh tone must surprise Maggie, because she flinches.

‘I – I was just wondering whether you’d seen Jesus around.’ There’s genuine concern in her voice and face.

Ilia’s eyes narrow until she spots Sasha hiding behind her friend, looking vaguely guilty and nauseous. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she says, voice softer when she realizes what made Jesus follow the trucks. Or who, rather. She works her jaw and tries to smile. ‘Don’t worry, he probably jumped the wall for a bit. He doesn’t like being inside for too long. He’ll be back soon. It happens a lot.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’

‘Yeah,’ Ilia throws Sasha one last glare, ‘you’re welcome.’

 

 

Jesus returns hours later on the back of Daryl’s motorcycle, clinging to the boy’s shoulders until they come to a smooth stop next to the parked cars. Ilia isn’t there to witness any of it, but later she’ll hear stories about how Merle had to carry the boy up to Barrington house. Horror tales about how skinny he’d been, how vacant his eyes, how there had been blood dripping down his limbs still. Whispers about deep scars riddling his entire body, cigarette burns on his hands and back, that some of the wounds on his thighs had re-opened during the night.

She’s not sure what to believe until she runs into Jesus and Alex at the back of the house, where the laundry has been drying all morning.

‘- your mouth shut! I can’t believe this,’ Jesus fumes as he stalks back and forth between the lines, casting a shadow on the white sheets. ‘You just _had_ to run your mouth.’

‘I didn’t mean for anyone to overhear.’

‘So you decided to discuss it out in the open, in the middle of the entire Colony!’

‘In the dead of night, while walking back to the trailer to get more supplies, yes,’ Alex sounds impatient. ‘I didn’t see anyone around, but either way; I’ve already apologized to Maggie and Merle.’

‘You should be apologizing to _Daryl_!’

‘So he knows that the whole Colony is speculating about how he got those scars? He’ll throw himself out of the clock tower as soon as he can walk. Let them think it was all Negan. They’ll be talking about that anyway. At least the kid will be expecting that.’

Ilia ducks under the first row of sheets and starts taking one down. ‘If you want it to be such a secret, don’t discuss it out in the open like this,’ she tells Jesus, who scowls at her. ‘Alex is right though, everyone is talking about what Negan did to that kid. They say he looks terrible.’ She glances at Alex. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

Alex nods. ‘Eventually. He needs time to recover.’ After a wary look at Jesus, Alex checks his watch and makes his way back to the house, ducking under sheets and shirts before disappearing out of sight.

Ilia hadn’t expected Jesus to stick around, but the man sits down against the house with a sigh. ‘What, you didn’t stay to help me?’ the woman says with a huff of laughter but rolls her eyes when the scout starts to get up. ‘Sit down, I got it. It was just a joke.’

Jesus looks tired. He cleans his fingernails and then just stares at the rows of drying laundry with vacant eyes. When one shirt he’d been looking at is taken down, he seems to snap out of it. ‘He thought I’d died.’

Ilia glances over her shoulder. ‘Who did?’

‘Daryl. I broke into his room, he was reading a book – he looked up and… He thought I was a hallucination or something. That I’d died.’

‘Guess he just wasn’t expecting you to turn up.’

‘No, but – ‘ Jesus frowns, ‘he sees me and the first thing he thought was; Jesus died and came back to haunt me. He kept saying how it wasn’t fair that he had to see me too.’

Ilia wobbles on her feet while rolling up a pair of socks, ‘yeah…’

‘I mean – who else is he seeing that that’s the first thing he thinks of?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ilia says and even in her ears it sounds like; _I don’t care_ , so she adds; ‘poor thing.’

Jesus narrows his eyes at her.

With a sigh, Ilia throws the fresh laundry into her basket. ‘I’m sorry, but…. Who even are they? They barged in here, weaseled their way inside and now _we_ are dealing with the consequences. You know the Saviors will come looking for them,’ she says when Jesus opens his mouth. ‘And you’re out there risking your life for them! What, because Sasha asked nicely? Why couldn’t she have gone herself? Why does it always have to be _you_?’

‘It wasn’t-‘

‘-Let me guess, it wasn’t that dangerous. It wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t that much of an inconvenience. Right?’ Ilia shakes her head. ‘That need to please everyone is going to get you killed one day.’

Jesus gets up. His eyes are down. ‘We’ll talk when you’re in a better mood.’

‘Sure, run,’ Ilia nods, ‘that’s all we see of you anymore these days; your back.’ She listens to his fading footsteps whiling yanking the laundry down from the line. It’s not very fair, she supposes, to be angry at him when she can’t find the right words herself to say; _I was worried and I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t do that again._

The rest of the morning, she debates seeking him out and try to make up but he’s long gone. When she heads up to her own room up in Barrington house, she freezes on the top of the grand stairway and stares.

Daryl slowly makes his way down. It’s not only that he’s skinny, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken, but something about his body language says that there’s something terribly wrong with him. Maybe it’s just the contrast, Ilia thinks as she stares at the teenager, because the last time she’d seen him, he’d been laughing with Glenn while trying to rile Abraham up, dodging a playful swipe from Rick. Now, she hardly recognizes him.

The clothes he wears should have made him look a whole lot better, but they don’t, somehow. They used to be expensive, a real leather jacket that’s shiny and brand new. Sturdy dark boots, no doubt waterproof. A pair of light jeans that actually fit him. A shirt that clings tighter to him than any of his old clothes had done, despite the weight loss. He still wears a backwards baseball cap but even that is new and clean.

His movements are clunky though. One hand on the railing of the stairs, painfully slow steps down. He seems to wince every time one of his feet flatten so even being careful doesn’t really help him. He’s pale which makes the scars peeking out from under his shirt seem redder than they are. Blue eyes have lost their sharpness and curiosity. Instead of keeping track of everyone coming and going in the hall, he now seems surprised when Ilia’s feet come into his view.

‘Sorry,’ she says automatically, giving him plenty of space by flattening herself against the wall.

The teenager mutters something, one shoulder curling in to hide himself from her and his free hand touching his side, where his weapons used to be.

‘Morning Ilia,’ Merle Dixon says as he appears on the staircase behind his brother.

‘Yeah – hey, Merle.’

The older Dixon curls a protective arm around the younger. Whispers something in his ear just as Daryl’s hand round his hip and sink lower to his inner thigh. He seems to check his jeans for something but then shakes his head.

Ilia notices that Merle has a couple of clean bandages in his hand. He probably ran back to grab those from the boy’s room.

She doesn’t understand why Daryl’s out of bed if he needs to recover until she sits down on her balcony and hears him sob in front of the graves.

 

 

The war is a strange time for healing.

She’s seen people break under the strain of loss, seen them crumble away before her very eyes, succumbing to the hurt slowly settling in bones and hearts. She’s seen them snap too. Where they were seemingly fine one second, cheerful despite everything else and then they were just gone. A gunshot, a walk through the dark woods without their gear, a rope tied to a high beam – any way they could, just to get out.

This might be the first time she’s seen someone flourish among the violence.

There’s hardly anything left of the teenager she’d met, months – almost a year ago now. He’d been sent away to the Kingdom but he’s back now, and different. There’s no shyness left in those blue eyes, no more playfulness in his touches. She hasn’t seen him smile in a long time now.

He’s unapologetic in the hurt he causes.

His group never returns with prisoners.

There are never any survivors.

Nobody questions it.

Ilia watches how the teenager walks down the grand staircase, dressed in dark clothing. Heavy boots, ripped jeans and the leather jacket zipped up to his chin. A bandana is tied around the lower half of his face, leaving just his small eyes visible in the dark of night. The crossbow is in his left hand.

People move out of his way. They open the big doors of Barrington House.

He doesn’t acknowledge any of them. He just walks out of the house, back straight and shoulders rolled back. The white angel wings a shimmering warning sign when the moon hits it just right. When he reaches the gate, he hoists himself onto the beautiful horse that’s waiting for him. A quick, hushed conversation with Kal and then he’s off, disappearing into the darkness beyond the wall to come back covered in blood and with a grim smile on his face.

The little prince.

The nightmare of any Savior caught out on the road.

She’s glad he’s on their side and she doesn’t doubt that he’s why they end up winning the war. Whether because of his bolts or determination, or due to the friends he has made – it doesn’t matter.

They win but nobody feels like celebrating, especially not Daryl Dixon. The darkness clings to him like a disease, the bloodthirst hiding just below the surface when he tries to find new ways to get what he wants; more blood on his hands, more victims, more unmarked graves.

Ilia admires how Maggie tries to guide him back onto the right path. Gentle touches at first, then hard labor to exhaust him enough that he will at least listen to her instead of storming off again. She tells him of what she thinks the new world should be like and he just can’t imagine it anymore. Can’t see anything good anymore.

He leaves for the Kingdom and Ilia doubts that anymore believes his feeble lies about wanting to see his brother.

Negan is at the Kingdom.

But so is Rick Grimes.

And when Daryl Dixon returns, months later, speaking a bit of Spanish, stronger than ever and with a smile on his face, Ilia can only conclude that that teenager will never cease to amaze or terrify her.

 

 

At first, she doesn’t believe the stories. It doesn’t help that William is sniggering when he tells it at the dinner table, mouth half hidden behind his hand and still mostly full. Cheeks reddening as he laughs and nods, slumps to the side to duck behind Gary’s arm, hiccupping as he does so.

‘I swear to God,’ William laughs. ‘Just ask Jimmy, he was sitting outside of his own trailer and saw the whole thing go down.’

Ilia frowns and pushes her potatoes around on her plate.

‘Christ,’ one of the guys mutters, ‘I thought it’d hurt like hell when a girl said ‘I think we’re better as friends’…. Imagine walking into that.’

‘He should have knocked, honestly,’ one of the women says with a shake of her head. ‘It would have saved him a world of hurt.’

‘He did!’ William insists. ‘Jesus called him in!’

The table erupts and Ilia quickly grabs her plate to slip away. She wanders around the colony until there’s a shift change. Then she heads to one of the emergency tunnels and sits down in the grass beside it. It’s only ten minutes later that it opens and Jesus hoists himself up, climbing out of the hatch.

‘Busted.’

Jesus curses and relaxes when he sees who it is. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, clearly going for a nonchalant attitude but failing horribly.

‘Waiting for you,’ Ilia says with a shrug. ‘We don’t have any purple hyacinths inside the walls.’

‘I-‘ Jesus glances at his bag and then sighs, ‘how did you know?’

‘Everyone’s talking about what you did and Daryl’s hiding in his room, it wasn’t that hard to figure out, really. When I saw you weren’t at dinner, I knew you’d gone looking for a way to apologize to him. I didn’t believe it at first though so it still took me a bit of time to work it out, but here we are.’

Jesus sits down next to her. ‘Why wouldn’t you believe it?’

‘You’re not usually cruel.’ Ilia cleans her fingernails. ‘So why did you do it? You finally got sick of him and his little crush or something? You could have just told him you’re with Alex now.’

‘I’m not with Alex.’ He sounds defensive.

‘Okay,’ Ilia shrugs again. ‘You could have just told him you didn’t like him. Ask him for some space or something.’

Jesus doesn’t say anything.

Ilia looks at him.

Jesus won’t meet her eye.

‘You _do_ like him?’ She has to force herself to look away as to not stare. It really shouldn’t be that surprising, she has long since figured out that he’s gay and he and Daryl have always been close. They like to sit next to each other at dinner, join up before one of them goes out on a run, hang around in front of the fire in the living room together.

At first, it had caused Ilia to raise her eyebrows, not really understanding why Jesus would choose to hang out with someone that much younger, but she hadn’t questioned it after hearing Jesus laugh like he does when he’s around the younger Dixon. They work well together. Daryl endlessly curious but with a flaring temper, Jesus more patient and accommodating but now unable to draw back into his shell, knowing that Daryl will just chase him down anyway.

‘Oh,’ Ilia says when Jesus doesn’t answer. ‘That’s…’ She searches for the right word.

Jesus winces.

‘… I don’t know what it is, actually.’

‘It isn’t anything,’ Jesus says as he looks away with red cheeks. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Ilia looks at him with curiosity. ‘But you like him. Are you going to….’ She trails off, not really knowing what she’s even asking.

‘No! God. Am I going to _what_? No,’ Jesus sounds affronted. ‘Of course not. He’s… He doesn’t know anything, doesn’t even know what he wants. He’ll… he’ll find someone else.’

‘Yeah, no doubt,’ Ilia mutters.

Jesus looks at her sharply.

‘What? From what I’ve heard, half the Kingdom is after him. You can’t even blame them, he’s handsome.’

‘He’s just a kid.’

Ilia doubts that. The Dixon might be young, but he hasn’t been a kid for a very long time. There’s confidence in how he carries himself, an independence gained through experience. He’s clever but not book-smart, quick on his feet, and eager to please. There’s youth in his habits though; hiding behind Merle when a door slams unexpectantly in the house, chewing on his fingernails when he’s nervous, or sulking in the stables when he doesn’t get his way.

‘Yeah,’ Ilia says, because even though she doesn’t agree, she doesn’t think it would be right for Jesus to entertain the thought much longer. ‘Did you talk to Maggie about it?’

Jesus snorts. ‘No. How would that conversation go? Listen, I think _your son_ is… No.’

Ilia shrugs. ‘I just thought… you two seem pretty close.’

‘We are, which is making this worse.’

‘Right.’

Jesus looks at her, ‘what?’

‘Nothing. She probably already knows.’

He groans. ‘Yeah. If I go missing, mourn me.’

‘Will do.’

He smiles and gets up, touching her shoulder for a second before walking off in the direction of Barrington House.

There’s a sourness left in Ilia’s mouth after the conversation.

 

 

It doesn’t sit well with her that Jesus and Daryl continue to spend an awful lot of time together, or that Maggie allows it now that everyone knows about the strange dynamic between the two. There’s no denying that they work well together. Outside the wall they count on each other to watch their backs, muddy and splattered with blood when they return, but talking quietly and seemingly at peace. Inside the wall, they’re never too far from each other. Daryl will sit under the shade of a tree while Jesus stretches and trains nearby. He’ll usually draw, or at least pretend to.

Jesus likes to keep the younger man company once he returns from his messenger duties, sitting on the fence while Daryl takes care of his horse. They’ll talk all the while. Even when the horse is eventually wrangled back into her box, the younger man will stall by washing buckets and cleaning extra gear just so they can keep talking.

They share a table during breakfast and can be found in Maggie’s office during dinner.

Nobody else seems bothered by it. Even Maggie makes the occasional joke, playfully scolding Jesus for flirting with her son, and making Daryl’s ears burn when physically turning his head with a semi-stern hand so he’ll stop staring at the older man.

It’s late in the afternoon when Ilia makes the rounds to collect laundry from every room in Barrington house. The door to Maggie Rhee’s room is open, but the laundry basket right next to the door is almost empty. The woman is sitting on the edge of the bed with her baby on her shoulder, rubbing his small back.

‘Oh!’ Maggie’s eyes widen when she spots Ilia with the heavy basket in her arms. Her gaze snaps to her empty one. ‘Shoot! I thought Dante would come later, I…’

‘Dante’s having some trouble with that new colt,’ Ilia says as she puts the basket down and looks around the room. It’s clear that a teenager lives here. Dirty socks have been thrown in the general direction of the laundry basket and now litter the floor. Shirts have been piled up on a chair, there’s a rag on the floor near the bed. A pair of jeans has been kicked into a corner.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Maggie says with red cheeks. She gets up and grabs a couple of shirts from the chair, dumping them into the basket. ‘I could blame it all on Dare, but those are mine,’ she says with a huff of embarrassed laughter. She pats her son on the back again, ‘we’ve been busy with this one. It doesn’t matter. Dare will bring the laundry down when he gets back. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay.’ Ilia steps into the room with a smile. ‘The socks?’ She bends down to pick them up and throw them into the basket. ‘I thought he was an archer. What happened to his aim?’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Maggie says but she sits back down on the bed. There are dark circles under her eyes. ‘But thank you. Just those shirts on the desk and the jeans. Maybe the rags on the windowsill?’

Ilia laughs as she walks over to the desk and grabs the shirts. The smile fades when she sees the notebooks that litter the table. The boy’s talent for drawing is undeniable. There are drawings of the house and the forest. Of Rick Grimes crawling on the floor with Judith on his back. Tara eating a twizzler, eyes hidden behind ridiculous sunglasses. His beautiful horse. A rough sketch of Maggie with Hershel in her arms. And Jesus. Jesus sleeping in front of the fire. Jesus standing guard on the wall. Jesus smiling. Jesus kicking a half-formed walker.

‘You don’t approve.’

Ilia turns to look at Maggie, who’s still smiling. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ve seen you give Dare the evil eye when he’s around Jesus. You don’t approve.’

‘It’s not… He likes who he likes, right?’ Ilia mutters as she moves to grab the other items. She thinks about just grabbing the basket and leaving, but then closes the door. ‘I don’t think you should be so encouraging of it.’

‘Encouraging?’

‘The drawings, the jokes… them spending so much time together. It’s not right.’

Maggie hums and rocks her baby boy.

‘Why do you allow it?’

‘Because there are very few people who look at my son and see him for who he really is,’ Maggie says. ‘He’s not the great Daryl Dixon from Alexandria in Jesus’ eyes. He’s not the great warrior to him, not the adventurer, not just the son of Rick Grimes, and certainly no little prince. He knows exactly who Daryl Dixon is, and he cares a great deal about him. I want Daryl to know that feeling. That it’s not his titles or his stories. That it can be him. Just him.’

Ilia frowns and bites her lower lip.

‘I’m sure you know he’s had a hard life, even before the outbreak. There is so little inside of him that he’s proud of. I see him interacting with Jesus, I see him discover things about himself, I see him grow every day, and every day he walks a little taller. Three years ago, my husband and I had to teach him that loving someone is a _good_ thing, no matter their gender. When he met Jesus, he was still terrified of everything he was feeling. To see him so free of that burden now?’ Maggie shakes her head and holds her baby a bit tighter. ‘That’s why I allow it.

‘Do I think someone his own age would be more appropriate? Maybe. It would be better for him, I think. Everything is new to him; I have no doubt that holding hands would make him blush up a storm,’ she says with a laugh. ‘I want him to do everything at his own pace, when he’s ready and because he wants to. Not because someone is waiting for him. But it’s ultimately up to them. As much as I hate it, Daryl’s not a kid anymore. He hasn’t been one for a very long time.’

Ilia lowers her gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, I get it. Jesus is your friend. I’m glad you’re looking out for him. Not many people do.’

Ilia winces. ‘Still – it’s none of my business.’

‘No. It isn’t.’ Maggie’s tone isn’t as sharp as it could be, but it still sends a clear message. The conversation is over.

 

 

Months later, Daryl Dixon sets out to find and kill whoever is crossing their borders, and he returns giddy with excitement. Ears hot red and a toothy grin, eagerly volunteering to help negotiate new deals with Washington D.C. It’s been a part of his job since the war, of course, so no-one is really surprised that Maggie sends him, though some raise their eyebrows when Jesus doesn’t join him.

There are visits, trade deals and then eagerly anticipated letters.

‘Is that why you’re avoiding Washington D.C.?’

Jesus looks up from his book to see Daryl running across the fields, vaulting a fence to dash up to the porch of Barrington house. Someone must have told him that there will be a radio-call coming from D.C. any minute now.

‘Because he has a boyfriend now?’ Ilia asks.

‘I don’t have any business in D.C.,’ Jesus says. ‘I thought you all wanted me to stay inside the walls more?’

‘Don’t be petty.’

Jesus gives her wry smile. ‘Then you really don’t want me to be in D.C. at the same time as him.’ He shrugs. ‘The guy he’s seeing? He’s a good person. Kind. Considerate – one of their best scouts so he’s good in a fight. He has a good group of friends, too.’

‘Bet he’s handsome too. Gross. We hate him.’

Jesus snorts.

Ilia smiles and sits down next to her friend. ‘So they’re together?’

‘Probably. Daryl’s worried whether he should officially ask, but going by that hickey on his neck – it’s pretty official already. Neither of them seem the type to be casual about anything.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why? I’m not.’ Jesus rolls his eyes when Ilia cocks a skeptical eyebrow at him. ‘Fine. I wasn’t too happy about it when I figured out what was going on, but they’re good together. Taiwo’s… They’re good together, that’s all that matters. I’m happy for him. He looks…’

‘Like he’s over the fucking moon,’ Ilia says with a huff of laughter. When Jesus can’t find the right words. ‘It’s kind of cute.’

‘Sure.’

Ilia knocks their shoulders together. ‘So now what? Blowing off steam with Alex still, or…’

‘Don’t pry,’ Jesus murmurs as he turns back to his book.

‘There’s got to be a fun way for you to get over this crush of yours.’

Jesus makes a soft noise and doesn’t seem too sure.

 

 

Almost a year later, while Ilia watches how Daryl jumps down from the cart to run towards Jesus. How they cling to each other, nails digging in, words of comfort just whispers between them. The ease with which Jesus can wipe tears away, how Daryl seeks out contact by grabbing hold of the man’s hand to ground himself. That he doesn’t push Jesus away when they make their way to Merle’s grave.

 

Ilia watches and thinks it might not be a bad thing, after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Boredcomiccollector86 for the commission. I hope you like it just as much as I've liked writing it.
> 
> Much love.


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